(She looks so little on that giant hotel bed.)
On Saturday this little lady flew with me to Spokane to spend a couple days with this guy. We left the little boys behind with Grandmas.
I love to travel. I never grow weary of airports. I must confess that getting a baby through security was enough to make me sweat. Bag in crate, shoes off, shoes in crate, baby out of carseat, carseat out of stroller, crates on conveyor belt, carseat on belt, big heave and stroller on belt all while holding baby. Then we walk through the detector and here we go. Stroller off conveyor belt, carseat off belt, baby off belt, oops just kidding! Baby in carseat, carseat in stroller, shoes on feet, bag on shoulder and we're off.
But aside from that I still get excited about flying. I could write a weeks worth of posts about airports and travel. But I will save those ruminations for another time and share with you just one story. Traveling with an eight week old infant was like traveling with a sign around my neck that said "Ask me about my baby." Here is one conversation that took place in an airport restroom between myself and a woman in her 60's wearing pink lipstick.
Woman: How old is he?
Miriam peers up at us from beneath a bright pink blanket.
Me: She is eight weeks.
Woman: Your first?
Me: No, I have to little boys, four and two.
I know, I am older than I look.
(I say this immediately in response to her disapproving expression.)
Woman: How old are you?
Me: Twenty-eight. (I'm not actually twenty-eight yet, but I like to go for shock value with these people, the higher better.)
Woman: Oh. Wow. You look about sixteen.
Me: Yes. (Thinking, the last guy at least said eighteen.)
Woman: Well, Lord bless you dear. I had four.
It was a great weekend. Richard is in the throes of his busiest time of year so it was a real blessing that from 4:00pm Saturday to 7:00am Monday we were together, just the two (and a quarter) of us.
(An airport restroom is really a terrible place to nurse a baby. Come on la Leche League, at least get a chair in there.)
7 comments:
I love (OK really HATE) when old people can't tell what gender a baby is! Come on, unless you are color blind it really isn't that hard!!! I once got asked if one of the twins was a boy...they were dressed in identical PINK DRESSES!!!!!
Sounds like a fun weekend! Look how cute she is in that last picture!!
Oh I hate that!!! If I had a quarter for everyone that looked at my kids and then asked me how old I was I would be set, oh and a penny for everyone that gave me the 'reckless teenage mother' look. Maybe we should have shirts printed... "Yes, these children are mine, they all have the same dad, who I married a year before the first one got here, and I AM NOT A TEENAGER!!! " :) Everyone keeps saying I'll love it when I'm 50, but I could have grandkids by then - I want to look 50 or this will all start again!!!
(Sorry for the short story:) )
Why oh why were you nursing your baby in the bathroom? There are perfectly good chairs all over.... Just cover up and they'll never know! (Yah, I pumped on toilets on my trip to New Orleans. It's totally gross. I didn't think pumping in public would go over as well as just plain old nursing.)
I agree with Joleen - people can be so dumb when it comes to if it's a boy or girl. I once got asked if my little girl was a boy even though she was wearing a yellow dress. She said she couldn't tell cause the baby was bald (like 9 months old). I'm like, yeah I can help that!
I agree with Joleen - people can be so dumb when it comes to if it's a boy or girl. I once got asked if my little girl was a boy even though she was wearing a yellow dress. She said she couldn't tell cause the baby was bald (like 9 months old). I'm like, yeah I can help that!
What a great treat for you Jo! I'm glad you got to pamper yourself a bit:)
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