It's 3:00AM. We are supposed to be packing up the car in another hour for our trip to Chicago, but guess what? I'm awake already. In fact, I've been awake all night. Every. Thirty. Minutes.
Why, do you ask?
Is it because you love seeing every hour on the clock present itself twice? Is it because you are giddy with excitement about your trip?
No. Nope. Nada. None of the above.
It's because my darling son is cutting his first tooth. Or maybe he's cutting all 24 at once ( how many freaking teeth do we have? Too lazy / tired to google it or count.) It has seriously been 2 weeks of sleepless HELL at our house. He never slept well before, but it has been worse since Mr. Pearly White has decided to cut through my son's flesh. And as much as I feel bad for my son (that shit's gotta hurt) I'm really having myself a giant pity party right now.
I'm. So. Tired.
And...we're leaving for a trip. Our flight is at 7am. I look pretty. Really really pretty. All I can do is hope that the little cutie sleeps on the plane.
He's fussing. Gotta go.
I'm going to shove my face with so much deep dish pizza I'll fall into a long fat slumber. Mmmm. Slumber. Pizza. Slumber pizza. Mmmmm.
It's hard to believe, but my baby boy is SIX MONTHS OLD! Phrases like "He's growing so fast" and "Where has the time gone?" come to mind. I wish I could think of something less cliche to say, but it's true.
I remember holding him, and within 20 minutes he was wiggling down, looking for my boob: he was hungry. His natural animal instinct guided him to his food source (this still blows my mind, by the way!) and just like that *snap fingers* my hormones told my brain to set off fireworks in my heart, and we formed a breastfeeding bond.
I love it so much, I've re-considered how long I might breastfeed my son. My original goal was 6 months, but I'm nowhere near ready to stop. So I'm thinking a year. Two? Ten? Is eighteen too old to breastfeed? Don't worry. I'm mostly joking.
However, as much as I love breastfeeding my son, from time to time it's nice to escape for a few hours and put on a real bra. It's nice to have a couple of glasses of wine and eat dinner at a restaurant with my husband (crazy, I know!) And when I embark on such adventures, I usually leave my mom at home to look after Cole.
I tell her "There's milk in the freezer, and the bottles are on the counter" and then I casually walk (okay, sprint) out the door, leaving her alone with my pumped milk & Playtex Drop-Ins bottles. And as much as it can be hard to let go of all of my Mommy control issues (i.e., when to feed him, how to feed him, etc...), I like that the Drop-Ins bottles are very easy for my Mom to use. So when Cole starts crying, she can put a bottle together quickly and easily. I also like the liners because they help prevent air from mixing with the milk—the last thing I want is a fussy baby! (Because let's be honest: it will be ME who has to deal with him when I'm home from my date) ;)
But once I'm home from my date, as much as I enjoyed my time away, I always open the door and look at him sleeping and secretly get excited for our next feeding session...*sigh*
What are some of your favourite baby feeding moments?
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Last month, I decided it would be fun to take the train, with Cole, to visit some friends in Ottawa for a few days—just me and my baby on the train. I had a very romantic idea of this trip, in my head—he would sleep with the smooth and gentle motion of the train, while I sipped on some wine and watched the scenery pass us by. Maybe I'd even read a magazine, or close my eyes and have a nap? Perhaps, I'd pull out my leather-bound journal and quill pen and write some poetry (pfff, that's a lie). Ahhh, just me and my baby on the train.
Well, I probably don't have to tell you (because I know you're already snickering at my naivety), but BOY WAS I WRONG!!! As soon as I lugged my stroller, diaper bag, and suitcase onto the train, I realized that this was a very, VERY bad idea, and this was a very small train. Fuck. Me! I gulped, took a deep breath, and prayed no one was assigned to the seat next to us. I did my best to distract Cole while we waited for everyone to board, hoping that once the train got moving, he'd be lulled to sleep. Then there was a loud announcement: "Excuse me. Excuse moi." (They repeat everything in French on VIA trains, making every announcement take twice as long.) "We are sorry for the delay, but we are experiencing some mechanical problems. We hope to be departing within the next twenty to thirty minutes." *Insert French version here.* My palms began to sweat. Another thirty minutes on top of our four hour and sixteen minute train ride? I'm not very good at math, but that's four hours and forty-six long-ass-mo-fo-minutes, on a tiny train, with a VERY ACTIVE five-and-a-half-month-old baby. Did I mention that I was by myself? And did I mention that I thought this was a good idea?
Finally, after thirty minutes and twenty-three seconds, the train started to move. But, I had already used all of the tricks up my sleeve to keep Cole distracted. Now what? Play peek-a-boo with the guy in the seat behind us? Okay, sure. (Sorry dude, but you made eye contact, so you sort of asked for it.) Okay, that used up three minutes. Now what? Try to lick the pleather headrest, while bouncing on Mom's knee? Okay. Sure. That used up two minutes. Now what? Make eye contact with the six-year-old girl across the aisle and hope that she wants to talk/play with you? YES, PLEASE!!! "Hello! How are you? Where are you going? Are you in school? Do you like babies?" *She nods yes* "Awesome!"
And that's how we occupied ourselves for the next four hours.
We'd chat with the little girl (okay, I'd chat with her, and Cole would giggle and drool), and then she'd come over and offer up some of her toys for him to play with. Then she'd read her book and Cole and I would sing/snuggle/play, and when we needed a distraction again, we'd look across the aisle and chat with the little girl (and her Mom, of course). Finally, after what felt like days, Cole was hungry and nodded off to sleep in my arms, while eating. It was lovely. We snuggled in the sunlight, and I kissed his bald little head. This is the trip I was dreaming of!
And then, there was an announcement: "Belleville! We are now arriving in Belleville. Belleville! Nous something something arrive en Belleville." (My French is crap, sorry for the translation.) Oh, what's that? A speaker? Right beside Cole's ear? Awesome. Thank you. Merci. Merci pour WAKING UP MY BABY! Aghhhhh. Noooooooo! And that was that. A thirty to forty-five minute nap and the rest of the trip was me being Super Mom to keep my baby happy, so that he didn't cry/get annoyed. I changed his diaper in the train bathroom, and that in itself was an adventure. I had to brace my legs against the sides of the stall and grip Cole so tightly that his legs turned blue (not really), just so we both wouldn't go flying during the earthquake of a train ride (so freaking bumpy). Cole had a terrified look on his face the whole time he was on the change table, so I just made eye contact and talked in a happy voice, while saying, "Holy crap! I hope I don't drop you! This is insane! Fun times buddy, fun times!"
And then, finally—two diaper changes, and ten thousand activities later—we arrived in Ottawa, exhausted, but happy. I was so happy to see my friend Emmy at the train station, but as we drove away in her car, I realized that in three days, I have to go back. Ahhhhhh!!!
Do any of you have travel tips or crazy stories to share? We're heading to Chicago at the end of the month, but this time we're flying, and this time I'm going with my hubby!
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