What had originally been planned as a quick visit to LA for the
weekend quickly turned into an extended visit following my last day at
work on the 18th. I packed Jude and my bag for the short trip to
visit Grandma Shirley, Ray and other extended family only to learn
that Monday morning, en route to Portland, that the biggest storm in
40 years had struck the otherwise temperate city, shutting down all
major roads like clogged arteries.
Not that I'm complaining. Jude loved LA, being surrounded by Ray's
great-grandkids, all around the same age as he. Nicole, my 23 year
old cousin came over with her best friend and her friend's son Dylan
who is a tad older than Jude. Together, they scuttled about,
Dylan walking upright and Jude crawling on his knees and hands.
Each morning, Jude would awaken me by rattling the brass bedframe back
and forth while emiting a primal scream like Tarzan swinging about on his vine. We would then harass Grandma for a bit (she's easily excited and claims that she
doesn't need to take valium. If she doesn't need valium, then fish
don't need water and plants don't need sunlight, etc.) before heading
out along the manicured golf courses and parks surrounded by
clay-colored roofs.
On Christmas Eve, Ray drove through neighborhoods whose homeowners
compete with one another for the most decorated trees, roof tops and
houses, not to mention an array of Christmas lawn ornaments. One home
in particular looked shockingly like a gingerbread house. I
wondered if it was edible.
When a baby is nearly a year old, jingling a change purse and ripping
paper just doesn't suffice as a form of entertainment while on an
airplane. He'll toss the purse on the already littered floor and
just ignore the paper as if it say, "Really? You think I'm that
easily entertained, sucker?"
The squirming and back-arching infant weighs a great deal more, so
your arms feel like gumby after the flight. Jude hates to be
restrained in any shape, way or form, so I spent most of the "seatbelt
off" sign time allowing him to walk and explore the aisles in his new
"big boy shoes" from Grandma Shirley. At the Stride Rite, Jude fell
asleep in his stroller, feet sticking out so the saleswoman promptly
measured (size four, wide) and velcrowed on a pair of white tennis
shoes.
Aunt Steph offered a piece of advice concerning this matter and age. She adopted her then one-year-old daughter from China and to keep her entertained on the 20 hr flight back to the states, she resorted to stickers that inquisitive
fingers could peel on and off for hours at a time. Personally, I can
see Jude devouring the stickers, but if it keeps him occupied, I
really don't care.
Since becoming a parent, I've learned to prioritize greatly. Before everything was about my own comfort. For a typical plane ride, I would have included a book or two in my bag, a sweater, i-pod, gum, a less than 10 ounce bottle of water and maybe a
snack. Most of the ride would be spent chatting with fellow passengers or napping.
Now, it's not just all about Jude- it's all for him too. Bottles,
formula, juice, snacks (grapes, cubes of cheddar cheese and slices of
turkey-perfect), baby books with thick pages so they don't rip out,
car seat, stroller, clothes…The list could go on and usually does so
when you're in the airport, you look utterly disheveled and somewhat
loony hauling all that stuff around.
When we changed flights in Arizona, we had to walk from terminal A to
D to catch the connecting flight. I didn't bring a stroller, so I huffed and puffed, precariously balancing Jude while hauling a backpack, cosmic duffel bag and diaper-filled purse with the other arm. One singleton dressed to the nines looked
my way before remarking to her latte-sipping girlfriend, "I don't know how mothers
do it these days."
So busy was I rushing to the gate that I didn't notice Jude toss
his bottle. Recently, he's begun throwing things, just to see what
happens. He learned that glass shatters on Ray's stone tile kitchen
floor while in LA.
Anyhow, I realize an hour into the second leg of the journey that
there's no bottle and that he's thirsty. Trying to give Jude sips of
a waterbottle results in him gagging and sputtering out liquid then
you and he are drenched and the water is empty before he's ingested
any.
So, I took a big swig of water, then popped a coffee straw (think
really small and narrow) between my lips before squirting the contents
into his heart-shaped mouth. Gross? Definitely. Did it work? Yes, and that's all
that matters. I suddenly a kindred spirit with mother birds who lovingly regurgitate half-digested contents of their meal into the squawking babies' mouths. Not that I would go that far-
Or would I?
Once in Florida, surrounded by half a dozen potential babysitters, the
days melted into one another and somehow Christmas squeaked by amid
all the sunshine, reading and beach time.
Tomorrow we're visiting the East Coast and sending home our light
clothes in exchange for heavier ones.
Last year this time I was just praying he would come...five days and counting!