It's interesting how babies can either bring out the best or worst in people. I've come to believe that for the most part it's the best in people, particularly women who are mothers themselves. Others, especially in confined spaces like airplanes, are seen taking deep breaths or inundating themselves with pillows to block out any cries. I consider myself lucky to have mainly encountered the former.
In the airport on the way over to the Czech Republic, we met a family from Quatar, a tiny cornflake of a country extending off the eastern part of Saudi Arabia. Attempting to feed Jude veggies while scarfing down Chinese food is never a good idea, and although the mother knew little English she managed to communicate that she wanted to feed my squirming son. Within minutes, she had him laughing and cooing all the meanwhile spooning in mouthfulls of dinner. Her daughter, just fifteen, showed me pictures on her i-phone of the family riding around on ATV's in the desert at home. In Arabic, the daughter explained, Jude means one who is kind to others.
Once in Prague, the manager of our 15th century hotel/hostel played "Paddy Cake" in Czech with Jude then allowed him to sleep for three hours in the cavernous downstairs kitchen room after we had already checked out. She also hauled a portable crib and a high-chair up the five flights of stairs for us. No wonder the Czech stay in such trim shape despite a diet of goulash, meat and potatoes.
One evening out at dinner, a little Spanish girl played with Jude and gave him several nicknames in reference to his blond mohawk. Her father grinned as he sipped from an expresso. Matt and I attempted to recall our rusty Spanish from our trip to Guatemala when Jude was just a peanut in my belly.
Since the last blog, Jude has fallen off the bed- twice. The first time was off of our bed at home, which is low to the ground since there's no base. I was packing for the trip and when I looked over, I saw Jude gracefully rolling down the side of the bed, buffered by our long blanket, as though a piece of dough.
The second time was far less graceful as he was on the bed in Prague, pumping his fists and arms, in anticipation of dinner. Thinking that Matt had an eye on him, I turned to open the mini-fridge stocked with Czech baby food just in time to hear a cacophonous crash. Matt had lunged in an attempt to catch Jude, but ultimately missed and tripped, leaving them both upturned like turtles on the floor. Much crying took place for all of us, but ultimately Jude was fine. Lesson learned: do not leave baby alone for even a second on the bed.
Another lesson: once baby's teeth come in, breastfeeding becomes a Russian roulette-like since you don't know if he's going to nurse or chomp. Someone once told me that babies instinctively know not to bite. Somehow Jude never received that memo as he smiles in response to my ensuing scream, as though he's entered a fun house.
At this time, Jude has also "discovered" himself, grabbing at his dangling ornament and squeezing as though it were a piece of gum in one's mouth. Concerned for the safety of future generations, I asked the doctor if I should be doing anything to discourage the behavior. "Oh, he'll figure out what hurts, but for now he views it as another toy to play with." Hmmm....so begins the male's life-long infatuation his manhood.
I'm also grateful to have been able to travel so extensively with Jude as an infant. Once he's mobile, I know it will prove much more difficult as he'll be into everything. I befriended a British woman on our flight back whose 20-month-old took a painful head-dive into a table as she was unloading items for security. The egg-shaped swell on his forehead was a constant reminder that little guys must always be watched vigilantly.