We Made It

Baby C's little digestive system held for the duration of the flight back to Chicago, but her littler store of patience did not. The flight was full, the woman next to us was large, and the man in front of us tilted his seat back as far as it would go. Baby C ate through her snacks before we took off then turned her attention to screaming and writhing. I'm pretty sure the woman next to me (and perhaps all of Seating Group 3) decided never to have children.

Now, we're settled in my younger sister's former bedroom, both of us thoroughly spoiled by my parents. Greg's coming out tomorrow. Life is good.


Greg is a super dad, so I really shouldn't complain, but, well, without hapless husbands and their long-suffering wives, the mommy blog world would cease to exist, right? So, here goes.

Poor guy stumbled off the red eye and into bed where, to my credit, I did let him sleep for a few hours. But I wasn't feeling well again; Baby C had been up from 1:00-3:00 the night before, and my cold was on its way back. So when he woke up around noon, I decided to take a quick nap myself. Just for a few minutes, you understand. Accordingly, I didn't pass along the baby instructions that are usually conveyed during a changing of the parental guard (contents of last meals, time of last poop, and estimated time of next nap).

Three hours later, I awoke. Greg was valiantly trying to watch Baby C while working from home. I surveyed the kitchen and playroom and my eyes fell upon the one banana left in the fruit bowl. Before my nap, there had been two.

"You gave her a banana?!" I screeched. "She had one for breakfast! What were you thinking?!"

Greg, expecting accolades for letting me sleep, was taken aback. "She loved the banana. She ate almost the whole thing."

The man didn't know that bananas are a rare treat for Baby C. With their tendency to, well, stop things up for a while, I pump her full of fiber for the rest of the day and we're usually okay. But the implications of two bananas in one day rendered me nearly speechless. "No... no... no. Greg, I'm getting on a plane with her on Friday!"

So far, my fears have been well founded. Two jars of prunes are nothing against two bananas. So, do I give her a third banana before boarding and hope she holds? Or should I just accept my fate and bring several extra clothing changes for both of us?


You know what I most miss about my pre-kid life?

It's not the luxury of carrying a tiny purse.

It's not being able to fly to Greece on a moment's notice.

A kitchen floor not covered in Cheerios? Clothes not covered in stewed fruit? Eyelids not covered by yogurt? Close, but wrong.

It's Sudafed. God, I miss it.

Baby C picked up some lovely waves-of-snot-producing cold from somewhere--I think it was the communal train table at the Barnes & Noble, but when your kid puts everything that crosses her palm into her mouth, it's hard to say with any degree of accuracy where the germs originated. She's finally on the mend, but I am down for the count today.

Supposedly, a nursing baby is protected by "mother's immunity", but ours seems to have expired. True, she's eating almost all solids, but I'm still nursing her a few times and therefore am forbidden from consuming most over the counter meds.

At least I know how to blow my nose. But that's another post. Probably best read when hopped up on cold medication.

Typhoid Mommy

Odd. Just returned from my weekly Target run, where folks saw us coming and cleared a path through even the most crowded of aisles. One lady practically dove into a display of Brita water pictures when I steered the cart towards her.

"Well," I reflected, "It's not a busy time. Most of my fellow shoppers are other mommies. Perhaps they remember what it's like to have a curious, grabby baby in their cart."


Or perhaps they feared contamination. Right before checking out, I caught a glance of myself in a makeup mirror. An oozy white crust appeared to be growing from my eyelids. I was horrified and confused. . . then it dawned on me. Desperate to get all of my errands done between Baby C's two naps, we left the house immediately after her lunch. Part of which (the yogurt course, apparently) was still drying on my face.

School Supplies

DC weather lacks a certain crispness that would be appropriate this first week of September. Despite the mugginess and high temps, I feel like sitting down with a fat issue of Seventeen magazine, gazing at the Benetton ads, catching a whiff of the Babysoft perfume insert and plotting out my school year. (The facts that I'm all grown up with no classes to attend except Gymboree seem even less consequential than the weather).

Of course, in Illinois, we went back to school in August. It was too hot to wear our new fall clothes; the girls who tried always looked flushed and miserable by lunch. I think I owned one very special Benetton sweater and couldn't imagine affording another. Locker rooms smelled like hairspray and aerosol deodorant more than anything else. But, the August issue of Seventeen hinted of a more glamorous existence that might be mine with the right shade of lip gloss. Fresh school supplies promised that this would be the year I stopped procrastinating. And perhaps my class schedule would match up with the boy I liked, and he would be dazzled by my cool mastery of Language Arts or Social Studies! (Shockingly, that scenario never played out.)

I miss the anticipation September brought. Maybe I'll buy a new spiral and take some notes during Gymboree.