I finally have a moment to post. I realize this blog is lacking in pictures, and I apologize. However, this post is coming to you from my archaic school-issue laptop, so you won’t find any new photos here. I could promise you some later, but I have a nasty habit of doing that, then getting covered in drool/barf or drooly barf and never getting around to it.
I’m waiting for a training to start and have approximately twenty three minutes to tell you about our weekend adventure. Here goes…
Background: My family reunion is a yearly affair replete with good people and even better food. The first thing we do is set up the dessert tables (yes, plural) and weigh them down with homemade cakes, pies, cookies, etc. We had a minor outbreak of ants this year in the kitchen and the whole family mobilized because if those ANTS got near our DESSERTS there would an epic throw down, y’all.
The reunion usually yields about 80-100 people every year, and Andrew was the star. He did so well–smiling and laughing for an hour or two at a time, until he’d give a look (or wail) to say “Mommy, get these people outta my face for a while, would ya?” We’d trek back to the hotel room (a mile away and upstairs, of course) and lay down for about an hour. Then he’d be up and ready to flirt again. We kept him on a steady dose of tylenol so he wouldn’t get too sore from all the manhandling and kept an eye on everyone who threatened to give him food. What IS it with people trying to feed my baby? He weighs 17 freaking pounds, he doesn’t need your french fry!
I added two new places to my Exotic Locale Breastfeeding Bingo card: the back of my grandparents’ car, and the back of the room during our family church service. Of course he had to start chowing down right before a prayer, so that all 100 family members could be distracted by his gulping. I thought that was embarassing enough, until he decided to have his first BM in over twenty four hours during the sermon. Nice.
Oh, and for those of you who would chastise me for feeling embarrassed, you try sitting in a room full of people with your boob out, concealed only by a nursing cover your baby is intent on ripping off. I don’t think he’s ever going to accept the cover, so I might as well get used to letting it all hang out. Too bad he’s in the “drink, drink, pull off, smile at mommy, repeat” stage. I’ll get pretty fast at the shirt pull-down move I imagine.
After church and one last trip to the dessert tables, we hit the road. What should have been a four hour trip turned into 6.5 hours thanks to traffic. As I mentioned, at one point I vaulted into the backseat to try and keep him company and when that didn’t help, I decided to pump a small bottle to bribe him with so he’d go to sleep. So there I was, wedged in between a screaming infant to my right and our crap piled to the ceiling on my left, trying to maneuver my pump and the bottle and to ignore the trucker in the right lane next to us.
Naturally he passed out before I finished pumping, so I rode the rest of the way home (about 3 hours) in the tiny seat, holding the bottle between my legs to keep in warm and trying not to think about how much I needed to pee. We stopped once for Mr. Aggie to use the facilities, but I dared not try to disengage from my tiny hovel.
Oh, and did I mention that I get wicked carsick? Nothing like riding in the middle of the backseat in stop and go traffic for three hours when you’re prone to barfing. I actually got one of the small bags we use for poop diapers on the go and had it ready should the moment (and my lunch) arise.
As you can surmise, we finally arrived home. We’ve mostly recovered and are now on to our next adventure: sleep training. We’re trying to move Andrew to his crib and teach him to soothe himself back to sleep (instead of hitting the buffett every hour throughout the night) both at the same time. But that’s another post.