Well, Gavin is asleep for the night and it's not even 4 p.m. yet. We're in California right now and the adjustment between California and Michigan time has not been easy-peasy. Neither has been sleeping on an airplane or irregular bedtimes. But Gavin is a trooper so far. And by "trooper" I do not mean toting a gun and Army crawling through the woods as a part of some kind of baby militia. Gavin's a lover, not a fighter. Unless we're talking fighting bedtime, which he does occasionally, but sleep has a strong pull and exhaustion has a long reach. So that's why he's asleep now during what is still the middle of the day for most mortals. Mind you, I don't think he'll stay asleep. Once Lisa and Brenden come home he'll likely wake up. Once Lisa's husband comes on he'll wake up for sure because Alan is not a quiet guy and he likes his TV loud and retarded (i.e. cage match shows and hockey games).
You know, I can't help but wonder if it's cruel to drag my son across the country just because my best friend and her son live out here. We got in last night, so he hasn't had much time to adjust. And I wouldn't say he's having a horrible time. It's just kind of crummy here and there. It's hard to be a baby. It's way harder to be a tired baby. The more tired he is the more he's clinging to Stacy. She's taken to calling him Velcro. Personally I would say something like Gorilla Glue would be more apt. Velcro is rather easily separated without irreparable damage, and that is not how Gavin sees things at the moment. I can tell it's starting to wear Stacy out, but it's kind of hard to be of any assistance. If I could I would just pretend to be her for awhile to give her a break, but Gavin would totally see through that.
Gavin was really, really good on the airplane, sleeping the majority of the time. He was sprawled out across our laps with his head on Stacy and his feet on me. Stacy nodded off for a little while but I did not. I could not. I was way uncomfortable. I would someday like to be rich enough to fly first class, please. Cramming yourself into coach with a baby is not living large, to say the least. Because sleeping on an airplane doesn't provide for a rest free of ambient noise and random movement, Gavin woke up a couple of times. Squeaking seats/tray tables were a big problem. And I don't mean squeaking as in mouse, I mean squeaking as in this is the sound you hear as the door to a haunted house swings open in front of you. Somebody needs to get some WD40 up in this bitch for real.
I'd like to say thank you to the kind people who sat behind us and smiled and made faces at Gavin as we waited for take off. Thank God for people who aren't assholes around babies. I know that lots of people complain about babies on airplanes and Lord knows most people don't want to sit next to an infant, but come on, people. No need to be jerks. No one was rude to us or anything, but all of the parents I know who fly with kids are so anxious and scared that their kid is going to make a noise or pull the hair of the person in the seat in front of them (Gavin wanted to do this very badly) or throw up or take a dump or whatever kids do on the airplane that there's very little time to enjoy what's going on. Mind you, I have never been a "relax and enjoy the flight" kind of person. I don't understand that. "Ahh, finally I am shoehorned into a seat in steerage where I won't be able to move for the next five hours and God help me if I have to pee because the guy in the aisle seat is stone-cold asleep with his headphones on and where I can't even get a drink of water without whipping out my credit card and plopping down $3 (thanks, Spirit!) and where I'll at times find myself secretly hoping the plane will crash just to get it over with sooner." It's not a roller coaster, it's an airplane. It's like a Greyhound bus in the sky. There's a reason you don't hear bus drivers tell passengers to relax and enjoy the ride.
I've finally decided what my favorite thing about having a kid is: family restrooms. I loathe public restrooms (while, of course, being thankful they exist, don't get me wrong) and now that I have a baby, all I have to do is wheel is stroller in there with me and I have a big private bathroom all to myself where I don't have to listen to the indelicate nature of random women's digestive systems as I try desperately to relax enough so that I can pee and get the hell out of there (after washing my hands, of course. Don't be gross). The family restrooms at the Detroit airport are remarkable cleaner than the ones for the masses, too. Granted, one of them smelled very strongly of pee but I just kept telling myself that it was just baby pee and that somehow made it okay. Or okay enough, anyway.
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