“This is completely my fault” and other things I’ve said this morning

I drifted off close to midnight last night and woke up in a panic at 3:45AM, remembering that I had not informed the taxi that was picking me up for the airport at 4:30 that I needed a car seat for Dominic. I spent at least three minutes frantically trying to figure out how I was going to rectify this mistake, before remembering that Dominic was in Washington DC and would not be in this taxi with me.

All that flustered worry, wasted, when what I should have been worrying about was the fact that I’d booked my return flights to Washington DC for Sunday April 29^th instead of Sunday April 22^nd. I didn’t worry about this in advance at all, however, because I didn’t know this until I tried to check in at 5AM and they couldn’t find a record of my flight reservation.

Isn’t that just the worst feeling when they take your ID at the airport and type in your name and then look puzzled? Yeah, I’ve had that particular feeling way too many times in my life.

I apologized profusely and admitted that this debacle was completely my fault. Then brown-haired angel at check in accomplished what I had not even dared hope for and rebooked me for this morning without charging me anything (and even though she was not supposed to do that unless there were seats still available in my fare class, which there weren’t). I told her when we parted company that I hoped she had as good a day as she had just granted me. May she receive a shinning emerald of kindness in her heavenly crown.

Well, I didn’t tell her that bit about the heavenly crown ‘cuz that would probably have sounded weird.

Neither did I tell her that my breasts thanked her, ‘cuz that would have sounded even weirder. But let me tell you (in case you happen to be wondering what my breasts have to do with anything) that you cannot abandon your baby for three days while breastfeeding without suffering repercussions. Yes, even if you pump.

Speaking of my baby, Mike and I have hardly had two minutes to talk since I left but he did briefly express some awe at the strength of will our child has demonstrated this past couple of days. Apparently there have been gargantuan battles to get him to eat, drink, and go to anyone other than Mike. Everyone at Festival said how happy little D will be to see me return but, actually, my best guess is that he’ll still just be pissed at me for leaving and that this temper tantrum will not end in the arrival halls of Dulles. I just hope His Royal Babyness condescends to feed. I really need him to feed.

So given the unhappy baby, the sleep-deprived daddy, the having to rush off and find a private electrical outlet a couple of times a day to pump, and my own extreme sense of dislocation that first day when I found myself walking around without Dominic literally attached to my hip, was coming to this conference worth it?

I don’t know, to be honest.

It was wonderful, to be sure. I spent sweet, sweet time with my great friend Nicole Baart and others. I made new friends (looking at you Mary DeMuth and Bethany Pierce). I was moved and challenged by some wonderful speakers. I slept for almost eight uninterrupted hours for the first time in more than a year and a half!!!! And once I got over the shock of separation that first day I mostly luxuriated in the baby-free time.

How do you put a price on all of that? How do you weigh that up against the hardship to Mike and Dominic that my absence represented?    

I don’t know. I do know that I’m glad I went. But I’m also so excited (not to mention relieved) that I’m now about to get on a flight leaving Chicago for Washington DC and returning to my boys. I can’t wait to see their tired faces. And even if Dominic is Baby Scowly instead of Baby Smiley I can’t wait to grab his chunky little body and kiss him all over.

Then it would be really nice to get a long, uninterrupted afternoon nap. What do you think my chances are?