Floooooooooridaaaaaaaaaaaa!

First plane ride--4 months old

I have to say, Q was angelic for the entire trip. I spent most of the day tensely anticipating a meltdown, but it never happened. From the time we left our house at 7am to the time we got into the car at the airport at midnight (10pm Alberta time), she maybe cried for a grand total of 15 minutes. She didn't bat an eye during take offs or landings. She didn't scream bloody murder when I changed her diapers. And I was fortunate that there was literally not one single person ahead of me at customs, both of my flights were on time (in fact, I think they might have been a little early), and I found my way to the gate in Houston with little trouble. I had empty seats beside me on both flights; there was a very nice lady on my first flight who held Q for a little while to give my back a break, and an exceptional stewardess on the second flight who helped me with many things (she even carried my bags on and off the plane and unfolded my stroller for me when we landed in Florida).

Despite all that, it was really, really exhausting. I had a splitting headache for most of the day from carrying a heavy backpack, overstuffed diaper bag over my shoulder, and holding a baby in my lap for many hours at a time. I got a few snacks in, but I never actually had time to sit down and eat a meal. We had thought Steven would be allowed to escort me to the gate (my mom had even called to confirm this), but when we got to the ticket desk, we were informed that he wasn't. Q had been generously saving up her poops for several days and pooped FOUR TIMES that day--the first one was literally FIVE SECONDS after I sat down on the first flight from having just changed her diaper in the airplane bathroom, the second two were on the second flight, and the last one was a big old squirt in the bathtub as my mom and a very exhausted me were attempting to bathe her at 1am before we put her to bed (which required the emptying, cleaning, and refilling of the bathtub as I held Q in a towel). To top it all off, 3 days before I left for Florida, my doctor called me to tell me my bloodwork came back showing low thyroid and that I needed to go on Synthroid, so I'm not exactly at the top of my game. I have been gaining my weight back like crazy and am pretty tired (which I'd just been attributing to Q's 5:30am wake up time). This is also highly likely the reason that my milk supply has been lacking, so I have to work extra hard at maintaining it until my medicine kicks in and is adjusted to the correct dosage. Furthermore, this is probably the reason I had a pregnancy scare last month when I was two weeks late (something that has never happened before), as low thyroid can mess with your cycle. Anyway, I'm not sure I would attempt flying alone with baby Q again. I mean, I'll have to to get back, but considering how exhausting and painful it was to do all that traveling even in ideal circumstances, I shudder to think what it would have been like if she had been having an off day.

But it was all worth it as we rounded the corner and saw Grandma and Grandpa there with huge smiles on their faces, Grandpa snapping pictures of us with his phone as we walked up and handing the phone excitedly to me, saying, "Quick, take a picture of Mom and I with our granddaughter!" as he crouched beside the stroller. Which reminds me, I apologize is Grandpa is clogging up your news feed with his pictures. But of course it makes me a little proud. Every time he's holding her, he wants a new picture. For our walk around the block, he wants a picture. If he shifts her to a different position in his arms, he needs another picture. He says he probably hasn't held a baby in years, but you wouldn't know it to look at him.

Grandma had the whole house cleaned, our room spotless, a basket of toys and handmade receiving blankets laid out, a baby bed set up, bath toys lining the bathtub, a box of diapers and a lined diaper pail ready, and even an adorable little ducky soap by the bathroom sink. She helped me bathe the baby, held her while I showered, then at 2am made me toast and oatmeal with cinnamon, honey, coconut flakes, berries, and almond milk. I couldn't have asked for a better mom. The next night, Uncle Tom and Q were reunited, and we all did a puzzle together (Grandpa and Q helped minimally). Tonight we are celebrating Tom's birthday a few days late, and Grandpa is going to make his "famous" key lime pie at Tom's specific request (Grandma kept worriedly asking, "Are you sure you don't just want a store bought key lime pie?"). Grandpa claims an ability to make key lime pie, but last time he attempted, it ended up accidentally being a key lemon pie, so we're still in the dark as to whether his claim contains any veracity. Tonight we shall find out.

The duck looks a little mad to be encased in soap. I guess I'll have to wash my hands lots to get him out.

I love it here. I mean, it's a little hot right now for my liking (80 degrees and sunny), but in the morning and evening, Q and I sit outside and rock back and forth on the porch swing, looking out over the marsh and listening to the birds call to each other in tree tops high above us. The wind rustles all the foliage, the cattails on the edge of the marsh sway, my mom's colorful flowers accent the all the greenery, and I quietly recall childhood memories of stomping around in the muddy marsh in my boots or shimmying up trees in my overalls or climbing out of my bedroom window onto the kitchen roof to lay in the sun. I mentioned to my dad that sometimes I wonder what the point of anything was before Q, and he said, "The next generation IS the point." That makes me happy and sad at the same time. I will never have my life completely to myself again, but I'm not sure I'd even want to.

The Milk Situation and Holding Onto My Identity

Q's hair has a definite reddish tint to it. What the heck? Where did she come from? If she starts showing a sudden proficiency at sports, I'm going to have some serious doubts that she is mine.

"The Milk Situation," as it has been aptly named, seems to be improving. I have increased feedings (including waking her up for a night time feeding), am letting her nurse both sides, and am eating lots of oatmeal and cinnamon as well as drinking Milk Maid tea like it's going out of style. I have also been praying, which shouldn't be underestimated in the "list of things that could be helping." For the first time in a long time, yesterday, Q was done feeding while I still had milk left. I was incredulous! I thought, "But wait, there's still some left. Aren't you hungry?" But nope, she was done! It was like my stress levels instantly lowered a good 50%. I had been feeling a little shaky and having trouble getting to sleep at night because of my nerves, and last night that all went away. I still dreamed that my brother was a lead singer in a rock band and fell off the stage, though. I'm pretty sure he survived, but he was injured and it was still sad.

Also:

I'm heading to Florida in 4 days! I have ever-proliferating lists on my phone such as, "Things to Pack" and "Things to do Before I Leave." I am trying not to anxiously obsess over traveling with a baby, but I must confess, I've had several dreams about it. I'm very self-conscious about nursing in public, and that is one of my big worries. I have a cover, but frankly covers are unwieldy and inconvenient. The baby gets hot, it's tricky to latch them without being able to see what you're doing, and I often end up having to duck my head under there, which is probably more awkward looking than just not using a cover in the first place. I do wish nursing in public was more socially acceptable, but I don't really desire to be a pioneer in this matter.

I've had so many mini-epiphanies and moments of self-reflection these past few months, it's getting a little exhausting. My opinions on so many things seem unformulated, but maybe it's a good sign to not have an opinion on everything. Even opinions I had which I thought were pretty solid seem to be switching at a moment's notice--for example, I used to think that having your child be rear-facing in their car seat until age 2 was ridiculous and impractical, but now I'm finding myself swayed by that argument and intend to keep Q rear-facing as long as possible (even as I read this, I sense how incredibly boring and trivial these things must seem to non-parents--and maybe even some parents, as well). I used to think that breastfeeding past a year was "weird," but now I find myself considering it (all things considered, if I only make it to one year, I will be extremely pleased).

I must say that motherhood has brought on a bit of an identity crisis. I find myself greatly changed--mostly for the better, I hope--which leaves me wondering who I am and what I'm worth apart from Q. I don't want to lose my identity in another person, as adorable and helpless as that little person may be. I want to believe that my inherent worth comes from ME--from my immortal soul, my experiences, intelligence, humor, dreams, etc. I actually leave Q at home or with her grandma a fair bit, just so I can do errands and things, and driving in the car with the window down singing to the radio helps remind me who I am. I can tell that it's going to be a struggle not to let motherhood completely define me. Of course I want it to be a very important piece of who I am, but I don't want it to crowd out all the other pieces--wife, daughter, friend, child of God, woman, human being.

For my final thought, I will leave you with this picture of three bugs I caught in a big ziplock bag. I found them all at the bottom of the staircase one night while I was home alone, hanging out within about 2 feet of each other and blissfully unaware of the others' presence. I didn't have the heart to kill them, so they're probably spawning evil minions in our backyard even as I write this.