So I've been trying to come up with something half-way entertaining to write about here but every time I sit down to write there is only one thing on my mind.
I'm flying to Minnesota in July, with Josephine, and I'm nervous. Scared. Shitless.
I mean, what am I thinking, traveling with a baby by myself? I can barely manage to get through security and to my gate when it's just me and now I have to do it all with A BABY.
I chose a flight with a longer layover than I'd like if it were just me (3 hours), so we have time to re-group, stretch out, pee, eat, and change diapers before the next leg (and we don't have to sprint if our first leg is delayed a little bit). The layover is in Denver, I've had long layovers there before and it's a nice airport to be stuck in, as far as airports go.
I know that it is entirely possible that the whole trip will be far better than I could imagine. But it is also entirely possible that it will be far worse than I could imagine.
All I've been doing since I bought the damn ticket is reading travel tips on parenting websites and blogs. Occasionally getting up to pee and grab a Diet Coke (damn you, addicting carbonated beverages!)
The only time my mind briefly wanders from packing lists, travel tips, and just trying not to lose my shit three weeks before what may or may not be a difficult situation, is when I start freaking out about trying to look decent in my current state of being a Flabby McChunk.
Damn those celebrities that return to their size 2 a month postpartum! I can't do that! (not that I was a size 2 to begin with)
You know what Josephine has started doing? No, not getting Diet Cokes for mama, she has started spitting up every other time I pick her up. Newborns spit up, older babies mostly grow out of it, Josephine has decided to projectile vomit on my pile of clean laundry.
If anyone on the plane gives me a dirty look I'll just turn Josephine to face them and give her a little jiggle and BLAAAA.