A Chronological Account Of My Mental State Over The Course Of Five Days Without the Baby
Day One
Get on the plane in Atlanta with one suitcase and one small backpack. Can't help but feel that I have forgotten something. Remember that it is the baby. Sit down and promptly read three chapters of Heat with no interruption. Marvel at the idea that it is possible to read more than two sentences without having to get up and remove Milo's hand from a nearby electrical socket. Feel so pleased about lack of baby that I immediately fall asleep as the plane takes off. Wake up three hours later in Mexico.
Day Two
Wake up at 6:30am. Note that there is no one demanding "Mik!" or "Cheerio!". Roll over and sleep for another half hour. Discover that it is now no longer possible for me to sleep past 7am. Lie in bed for another hour anyway, feeling pure joy at the fact that it is possible for me to do so. Rent golf cart with Steven, drive around the island, routinely note to one another how nice it is to be able to have a conversation. Remember that Steven is pretty funny. Have leisurely lunch and dinner. Go to sleep at 8:30pm.
Day Three
Take long walk on the beach. Notice many babies doing Milo-like things. Think how awesome Milo is. Find myself saying "cup! hot!" to Steven. "Hot! Pancakes!" Steven says back. Buy Milo little Mexican shirt and shorts outfit.
Day Four
Take long walk on beach. Note that long walks on beach are begining to feel kind of boring. Finish Heat and wonder what's so great about reading a book straight through anyway, because then you just have to start another one - maybe much better to drag out the reading process over the course of four months. Wonder if Milo will remember he has parents. Pass by family with screaming Milo-aged child and naked three-year-old trying to claw his way out of golf cart. Note that parents look like they want to leave the children in Mexico. Exchange knowing looks with Steven.
Day Five
Get off plane to discover two-hour-long line at immigration. Am tempted to begin elbowing people out of the way, yelling "Let me through! I haven't seen my baby in five days!". Arrive at in-laws, peer at Milo sleeping in the pack-n-play and marvel at the fact that he looks like a completely different person than he did five days earlier.
First Day Back With Milo
Rejoice in the joy that is Milo for about an hour. Spend the next six hours attempting to restrain him from grabbing strangers' laptops, stepping in his own dirty diaper, and throwing himself into a garbage can at the Atlanta airport. Marvel at the fact that a two-hour flight can seem like a two-day flight when one is buckled into the last row with a 14-month-old who does not understand why he can't just walk around the plane, despite the turbulence that would easily fling him against the overhead luggage compartments. Smile wanly as he points to the latch holding the tray table on the seat infront of him and insists repeatedly that it is a clock, which, unfortunately for the entire plane, in Milo's language comes out sounding like "cock".
"Tray," I hushed.
"Cock!" screamed Milo.
"It looks like a clock," I explained. "But it's a tray."
"Cock! Cock! Cock!"
Arrive home. Wonder when next vacation starts.
Get on the plane in Atlanta with one suitcase and one small backpack. Can't help but feel that I have forgotten something. Remember that it is the baby. Sit down and promptly read three chapters of Heat with no interruption. Marvel at the idea that it is possible to read more than two sentences without having to get up and remove Milo's hand from a nearby electrical socket. Feel so pleased about lack of baby that I immediately fall asleep as the plane takes off. Wake up three hours later in Mexico.
Day Two
Wake up at 6:30am. Note that there is no one demanding "Mik!" or "Cheerio!". Roll over and sleep for another half hour. Discover that it is now no longer possible for me to sleep past 7am. Lie in bed for another hour anyway, feeling pure joy at the fact that it is possible for me to do so. Rent golf cart with Steven, drive around the island, routinely note to one another how nice it is to be able to have a conversation. Remember that Steven is pretty funny. Have leisurely lunch and dinner. Go to sleep at 8:30pm.
Day Three
Take long walk on the beach. Notice many babies doing Milo-like things. Think how awesome Milo is. Find myself saying "cup! hot!" to Steven. "Hot! Pancakes!" Steven says back. Buy Milo little Mexican shirt and shorts outfit.
Day Four
Take long walk on beach. Note that long walks on beach are begining to feel kind of boring. Finish Heat and wonder what's so great about reading a book straight through anyway, because then you just have to start another one - maybe much better to drag out the reading process over the course of four months. Wonder if Milo will remember he has parents. Pass by family with screaming Milo-aged child and naked three-year-old trying to claw his way out of golf cart. Note that parents look like they want to leave the children in Mexico. Exchange knowing looks with Steven.
Day Five
Get off plane to discover two-hour-long line at immigration. Am tempted to begin elbowing people out of the way, yelling "Let me through! I haven't seen my baby in five days!". Arrive at in-laws, peer at Milo sleeping in the pack-n-play and marvel at the fact that he looks like a completely different person than he did five days earlier.
First Day Back With Milo
Rejoice in the joy that is Milo for about an hour. Spend the next six hours attempting to restrain him from grabbing strangers' laptops, stepping in his own dirty diaper, and throwing himself into a garbage can at the Atlanta airport. Marvel at the fact that a two-hour flight can seem like a two-day flight when one is buckled into the last row with a 14-month-old who does not understand why he can't just walk around the plane, despite the turbulence that would easily fling him against the overhead luggage compartments. Smile wanly as he points to the latch holding the tray table on the seat infront of him and insists repeatedly that it is a clock, which, unfortunately for the entire plane, in Milo's language comes out sounding like "cock".
"Tray," I hushed.
"Cock!" screamed Milo.
"It looks like a clock," I explained. "But it's a tray."
"Cock! Cock! Cock!"
Arrive home. Wonder when next vacation starts.
posted by Hana @ 10:03 AM
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