In the words of Erin's beloved Jimmy Buffett, "Changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes" especially when you leave the miserable, glacier East Coast for the simple, sunshine-filled existence in Florida where heavy blacks and browns are traded for pastels, shorts and bathing suits. Initially, I worried the airplane ride would prove traumatic for Jude, instead the blond boy behind us shrieked while our cooing babe charmed the stewardesses then slept much of the way without much interruption. Upon arrival, we dumped Jude into the pool after lathering sunscreen on. He loved it, likely thinking to himself that at last he managed to return to utero where he was immersed in warm water, cozy and well-fed without endlessly pursuing Big Boob.
Speaking of which, Matt brought the rented Breast Pump in its official Inspector Gadget plastic suitcase. It had its own compartment aboard Jet Blue and has allowed us to escape to dinner and the movies.
The second day in Florida when Matt and I ventured out to see "Definitely Maybe", I felt what can only be described as a huge void walking through the ubiquitous Florida mall, sunshine spilling through the glass ceilings, without Jude in tow. Passerbyers smiled politely, but certainly didn't stop to coo and stare as I had become accustomed in public places. We were babyless and on one hand it was liberating not hauling the stroller, diaper bag and Jude about praying all the meanwhile he wouldn't fuss or poop, and on the other I experienced a dull pain in my chest as I was without the inhibitor of my belly for nine months and constant companion for the past two. After the movie, we drove back to the "mouse house" condo immediately.
A year ago this March Natalie had flown out to meet me in Thailand. I had just finished teaching in the northern mountains and I was itching for an adventure. For a month, we traveled through Malaysia and the south of Thailand, burning to a crisp on the beaches, sleeping in sketchy huts and constantly on the go: rock climbing, hiking, exploring strawberry farms as well as marketplaces where we ate anything under the sun fried up.
The self I was only a year ago would have balked at spending a week in Florida just "relaxing." I wanted constant stimulation, challenging encounters, adventures...you get the idea.
With an eight-week-old infant, one's definition of vacation is no longer limited to cascading limestone when it now includes merely grocery shopping without the ordeal of bundling the baby and trudging through snow and ice while futzing with a stubborn shopping cart. A great afternoon is when Jude doesn't cry endlessly and a successful dinner just means that he slept through it.
Gramps and Dee Dee's (Matt's paternal grandparents) condo on the beach is now burgeoning with baby items: a swing that lights up, plays music and creates imitation ocean wave sounds that make me have to use the bathroom, a stroller and a rocking bassinet rented for a week from a place nearby. In short, there's enough items to keep Jude occupied and happy. Many a time, Dee Dee gets her daily exercise by strolling Jude throughout the apartment, singing a song about a tattooed lady, as I swim and Matt edits on Tina, the computer.
We take endless pictures of Jude in the water, Jude with a balloon, Jude cooing, making the owl expression named so after watching "Into the Wild" and noticing how much he resembles the bird.
At eight weeks or two months old, Jude has indefinitely entered into a new phase of babyhood. He's graduated (hopefully) from the erratic crying through the night, days when I couldn't eat anything other than bland chicken, bread and water (seriously) to interacting with others, smiling and cooing, and waking just to eat. Like clockwork, Jude serenades Big Boob every three hours. We sleep together, Jude and I, and nursing requires me to only be half-asleep so I'm nowhere as exhausted as I was even two weeks ago. Each stage seems better.
Last night he vomited on me, likely a result of devouring too much seafood on my part, and as I was cleaning the milky substance from my shirt Jude erupted into a cackle. He laughed, turning his head from side to side, evidently quite pleased with himself.
Another component to Jude's newest stage consists of his gaining awareness of his hands. Before, in the midst of a meltdown, Jude's fists would find their way to his head and clasp down on a lock of hair, fueling Jude's rage as he didn't realize he was the culprit orchestrating the pain. Now, I've noticed him examining his hands in sheer wonder. Placing his fist or finger into his mouth, Jude is starting to learn that he has control of his appendages.
This discovery goes hand-in-hand with Jude's neck muscles strengthening under the support of his head. A month ago Jude was still a bobble-head, his cranium swinging dangerously about without assistance. Now, I'd classify him as just semi-bobble headed as he, particularly when excited, can hold his head erect for a few seconds without flopping backwards or forwards.
A week before we left for Florida I received news that my cousin Joe who I'd grown up with died unexpectedly after drinking while taking painkillers for his back pain. We used to catch frogs together as kids, later he lived with us when I was in sixth grade for a year. Blasting Lauren Hill's rendition of "Killing Me Softly" from his car as he drove me and my friends to the mall on occasion, Joe felt more like an older, rebellious brother than a cousin.
At the funeral, his mother wept, expressing all her regrets, lamenting that she should have called more, made greater attempts at keeping in touch, even remembering the last moments of her pregnancy with him when she watched the fetal heart monitor at the hospital nearly thirty years ago. It was that last part that really got me. I began thinking how empty life would be without Jude Lei, the greatest surprise in my life and my greatest joy. I know Matt was thinking the same as tears ran down his face for a person he never even met.
I don't really have much of a direct point for sharing this other than how it's made me more sensitive to the fragility of life and the passing of time. Sometimes I feel a bit down and isolated. The winter can do that to you, as can motherhood, especially when you're young and not entirely sure of yourself and you suddenly have a life to be responsible for.
This week in Florida, I've been able to more fully appreciate Jude, thanks to doting family members who eagerly pitch in when a break is needed. Taking in all those seemingly insignificant moments, kissing his rose-bud mouth or his froggy-like belly, smelling his hair and melting into his buttery cheeks, I don't want to live with regrets about not spending enough time with Jude as a baby.
Dee Dee and I have also been talking a lot. Both she and Grampie are sagacious and openly admit to their past mistakes while never passing judgement of others. From what I understand, during the 50's and 60's when they were raising their five boys, there wasn't really an emphasis on appreciating babies. They were simply a component of life resulting from marriage that demanded time, money and other valuable resources. Watching Dee Dee and Grampie interact now with Jude, I can sense that their views have evolved as they have an entirely different approach. I hope to not get too bogged down by worries and instead be appreciative of these special times.
Off to work on my tan....enough for now.