The Trip...(finally) Part 2

The first night of our trip, as described previously, our son slept perfectly. Not so much with the second night. Our very kind hosts, who were brave to take us on with Clark, had even provided us with a portable crib. It was the fanciest thing I had ever seen. It was suede, people. For a BABY. Anyway, I was so excited for Clark to sleep in it, I just knew he would love it. Well, apparently I know NOTHING about my son, as he hated it. It also didn't help that our hosts prefer a cooler house at night-who can blame them? I prefer that too, though with the baby, we had stopped doing that, and our house is in general kept quite warm for his comfort. Well, even in a thick, footed onesie and a flannel sleepsack, he hated his life. He would not sleep for the life of us. We were up for hours trying to calm this baby who was clearly exhausted-he would fall asleep almost instantly on us and wake up instantly in the crib. So finally, my husband laid him down beside him on our bed, where, of course, Clark instantly fell asleep beside us and slept the rest of the night. I know, I know, in bed sleeping is dangerous for several reasons, but we were so tired, as was Clark, we just did it. And never have again, luckily.

The next few days went as normal, and all was going fine. The only hiccup was the family. Don't get me wrong-they were amazing to us on the trip, paying for things, carting us around in the van they rented and putting up with Clark's screaming. But no one seemed to really understand that he had an actual schedule, and this put a cramp in their plans. They were used to being out as long as they like, but with Clark, you can only leave after he's eaten, and as soon as he wakes up from his nap, instantly he's starving(gets that from his Dad!).  So anyway, there was a lot of frustration on both sides, mainly because he would wake up from a nap, angry and hungry, and they would want to stop and do an errand or two. Which is absolutely impossible with Clark. Either way, lessons were learned on both sides, and no one starved to death, so really, I guess it was a success.

The trip was nice too, in another way, as many people I knew when I was much younger finally had their chance to both meet my husband and my baby. So of course we only brought Clark's cutest outfits to impress them. Like this one:

Unfortunately, as if he was punishing us, he decided to always pee/poop/puke on these outfits within 20 minutes of being in them. It was ridiculous-and I know he was doing it on purpose, because he rarely does any of those anymore. But, I figured he had a right, so we just learned to take the picture as soon as he was changed instead of waiting for the inevitable eruption of some type of liquid.

But the real debacle came on the way home. We had to drive to airport, and then fly out-this time with no break at a hotel in between. So the car ride went pretty smoothly at first, with Clark sleeping the first hour. Then we stopped to feed him in a parking lot along the highway, and surprise, surprise, he refused to breastfeed. That's when we realized we only had enough formula left for one bottle-and we would be needing at least 4. So, my husband and brother-in-law were forced to run around this tiny town off the highway searching for a store that would hopefully carry our brand of baby formula. Luckily, they eventually found one and we were able to keep going.

We got to the airport with plenty of time to spare-too much time. Clark was due for a nap just right before we were supposed to leave, and fell asleep right before we boarded, which meant that by the time we left, he was wide awake. In fact, he woke up ravenous. I mean, he was seriously acting as though we had been denying him sustenance for several years. So he started freaking out, and I attempted to breastfeed, thinking he would be more into it this time, as I had already missed a feeding, and would have plenty of milk for him. Apparently, not going to happen. So we tried to hold him off, but that just turned into an incredible amount of clawing and thrashing, and screeches so loud that people were actually turning to watch us, obviously thinking we were torturing our child. So in the end, I ended up giving him the bottle to shut him up, hoping it would last through take off. Fat chance. Instead, he gulped the entire thing in 5 minutes, and cried for more, which we obviously did not have. Then he cried because his ears hurt. All in all, disaster.

Then the bad mood continued-to the point where my mom offered to take him for our sanity-but then, five minutes later, handed him back, claiming that she was sure he had pooped. I smelled him, and told her I thought he was fine, but she insisted, so I climbed out from the window seat, breaking both my legs in the process, hauled the baby up on one arm and the diaper bag on the other, bashing people's heads in with it as I walked down the aisle. That's where my husband's height becomes very useful to him-he's over 6'4'', and barely fits into those washrooms normally, never mind when he's attempting to change a baby. When I finally finishing stuggling with my now happy child(figures!), there was no poop. No pee either-and that's when he decided to pee EVERYWHERE. All over his legs, stomach, outfit, change pad, change table, me. So then there was the process of cleaning him up, anything within a 2 foot radius up, and changing in into one of his extra outfits. By the time we got out of there, there was a line-up for the washroom and they were all giving me the stink eye.

I gave him back to his grandma with a "Thanks a lot for nothing."(I wasn't in the best mood at this time.) As I handed him over, Clark managed to kick a full glass of Coke all over my husband's pants, and then puke all over me. So here my husband and I are, on a four hour flight, each covered in multiple liquids, cold, uncomfortable, and unhappy. And then, the smell hit my husband. So he turns to my mom, and says,

"Did Clark poop?"

"Nope."

"Are you SURE?"

"Yes!"

See, the thing you have to understand is my son only poops every two or three days, which is perfectly normal for him. But when it does happen, it's MASSIVE. No diaper can contain that for long. But my mom kept insisting that it was just him tooting, nothing to worry about. Twenty minutes went by, and finally my husband couldn't take it anymore, he took the baby from my mom and checked. I swear he almost choked, it was that bad. So for the second time in 30 minutes, the baby and I got loaded up and bashed everyone's head in. Only to get stuck behind a person standing in front of the empty washroom chatting up the flight attendants. He looked at me, saw the baby, and just kept talking. I tried to be patient, but finally, I was just like, "Are you going in there? Because we really need to." He rolled his eyes and moved over half an inch, making me squeeze to get through.

And there was the poop-all over my son's outfit and up his back, thanks to mom. So went into his second emergency change of clothes-and his last, with still an hour and three quarters to go on the flight. As I exit the bathroom, there is an extremely tall, extremely burly older man waiting outside, taking up all the room in the aisle.As I stand there, trying to silently convey to him that he needs to move back to his row so I can get around him, he tells me just to "squeeze by him". Excuse me, you trying have a kid, and see how wide your hips end up being, nevermind added to that a diaper bag and a baby you are currently holding, and how tiny the aisle is. So I very politely asked him to move instead, which he refused. It was ridiculous. So finally, I just said, very loudly, "Sir, I am holding a new baby on a moving plane, I cannot squeeze by you or into another row, so you will have to move." At this point, a flight attendant intervened and asked him to move for me, thank goodness.

When I got back to our row, I informed my husband that I was never leaving my seat again, added to the fact that the next time I fly, it better be when Clark is 18 or not with us, because this had been the worst day of my life. And then, as if to seal the deal on the flight, my son fell asleep as we landed. Literally, we touched the ground, and he was out like a light. Which meant waking him up to put him in his car seat, which led to a massive amount of crying and screaming, which only got worse when we got outside to find 2 feet of snowing had fallen, and was still falling.

Then, to top off the whole thing, as soon as we got home, and were getting him ready for bed, we look up, and there was a giant patch of mold on my son's ceiling(we live in an apartment building). Which then caused discussions about sleeping arrangements for him, which then culminated in the realization that his crib does not fit through the doorway and would have to be taken apart and rebuilt, which is impossible as the instructions were missing. In the end, we researched it, and decided he would sleep one night in there and we would figure out different arrangements the next morning.

As my husband put it, "All in all, one of the biggest disasters since we got married." I'm just glad he was with me. I cannot fathom trying to handle all of that without him. It's times like that when I realize my husband is everything to both of us, and how much he does for us. So my recommendation to everyone is this-travel when your child is older, or don't travel at all. Save your sanity, you are going to need it, if you have a baby.