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.
Bananas
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?
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?
Sick
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.
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.
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