I’ve been chained to my desk this week, trying to cram a full month of work into three weeks. I was up until four last night and at the desk until two today, trying to keep control of my pre-frontal cortex long enough to bash out some coherent ad copy for a client.
And what are we doing now?
We’re packing. We’re getting off the Island for ten days to see folks in America and eat John Goodman’s bodyweight in high-fructose corn syrup, along with playing some football and celebrating Aunt Joan’s birthday around a bonfire. We look forward to letting other people pet/dandle/feed/change the Bean.
Provided, of course, that we don’t get thrown off the airplane somewhere over Greenland due to Bean’s amazingly shrill squeals.
You can find a lot of hostility towards children and parents who take public transport out there on the Internet– I don’t just mean hostility towards obviously undisciplined children, but a kind of free-form hatred of people who bring their kids out in public at all. Guess what? Going out in public is how kids learn to be in public. And kids have to travel sometimes. Now and then they cry or make noises, and if they’re infants, they’ll cry for as long as they need to.
I guess I should point out that I’ve been having nightmares (literally, waking up at night) about a mid-Atlantic meltdown. She’s downstairs squealing her head off right now. It sounds like the end of the world, but I know for a fact that she’s sitting on her playmat, waving a toy or her hairbrush (same thing at that age, I guess). She’s happy. She’s just making noise.
We’ll try to keep her quietly distracted on that eight-hour flight tomorrow. But I’m also packing 10 pairs of earplugs and enough cash to buy a drink for anyone in our immediate vicinity should the Bean kick off.
I really can’t wait to land in New Jersey. Ugh.