I stressed over this trip. I worried and ranted and ultimately researched my butt off on how to make things go smoothly. And on the way there, they did. I wore the baby through the airport. I was going to use the Ergo, since it's my everyday carrier, but at the last second decided to wear the Moby instead, since it seemed easier to sit in for long periods of time. (I packed the Ergo in my carry-on just in case, but ended up being happy with my choice.) We borrowed a Snap 'N Go stroller frame, popped in our car seat, and piled our luggage on top for easy airport navigation. I had to have some additional screening because I asked for my breast milk to be hand screened, but it was no big deal. We were able to gate-check our car seat and stroller, and we were seated in the very last row of the plane, for easy access to the lavatory for diaper changes. On the second leg of our trip our flight was only partially booked, so we were able to bring the car seat on board and give Tycho his own seat. I didn't specifically nurse him on take-off or landing, because he wasn't hungry during those times, but he didn't cry or fuss, and beyond the normal discomfort of sitting in a cramped airplane seat for hours on end, air travel was no big deal.
The trip itself was pretty lovely. The transition wasn't hard for Tycho at all; we co-slept at my in-laws just as we do at home, although he kept on his Seattle schedule, which made for some very late nights. But hey, vacation, we can sleep in. We left him with his Grandma and Grandpa a couple of evenings to go out with friends, and his first time(s) being babysat went as smoothly as you could imagine. And I didn't even stress out too much about it.
I think perhaps my favorite thing about the trip is this. We spent some time paging through old albums of baby pictures of Kyle and found something astonishing:
I seriously couldn't believe it. Everyone we showed it to thought it was a picture of Tycho at first. It really could be a picture of Tycho, if Tycho had a velour tracksuit. I need to procure him one. It's funny to me, because although it is obvious that he is his father's son, I really just see "Tycho" far more than I ever see either of us in him. But I am his mother and that is how it should be, I think.
The trip home was slightly more difficult, with delayed flights, rerouting, no layovers, many extra hours in the air, and Kyle and I being separated in middle seats in different rows. By the end of the second flight Tycho had had enough of sitting on my lap for hours on end with no time to stretch and wiggly and here I am sandwiched between two strange men with my boob out while my baby cries and spits up all over me. I'm still not completely over it, if you couldn't tell. But I supposed all's well that ends well, and we made it home in one piece, minus a little bit of a sleep regression, but that may be tied to some growth-spurting, too.
In other news, Tycho is three months old today. I can't believe how much he's grown, both physically (and how!) and developmentally. He is not at all the same baby we brought home from the birth center. He interacts with us now, he coos and shouts and grunts and he can stick his fists into his mouth and hold onto some of his toys and all of the sudden he miraculously will tolerate tummy time for more than three seconds. A couple of weeks ago this all really started to feel real and permanent for me. Before it just seemed like we were simply playing house, and sometime soon someone would come and take him back and things would go back to how they were before. But the new reality has solidified for me, and I truly feel like I am his mother, and always will be, and that is that. And that is nice.
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