Early in the month, I started researching a possible trip for Fiona and me to Fargo, North Dakota. My paternal grandmother's 90th birthday was looming on the horizon, and it seemed like just the kind of excuse I needed to get out there and introduce the young one to her great grandmother, grandfather, and other assorted relatives. I struck gold when I found a relatively affordable flight out of Boston going direct to Minneapolis, from where my aunt generously offered to pick us up and drive us to Fargo. I booked the hell out of it, not with a little trepidation. Flying? Alone? WITH A BABY? Oy, this was new territory.
M's parents were kind enough to drive us to the airport, and after braving parking lot-like traffic conditions on the way that convinced me we'd be taking the next flight out, we arrived with time to spare thanks to a near-empty airport. Those of you who have ever been to Logan know that the travel gods were indeed smiling upon us that the airport was so easily traversed. Before I knew it, we were past the security line and awaiting pre-boarding. Finally! It was my chance to be in that elite group of travelers: "First class passengers, passengers with small children, or passengers who require extra time for boarding." I've been traveling by plane for going on 30 years now. This was a first for me. Yes, now it was my turn to board early.
A quick aside: I learned a lot from this trip; tips, pointers, little annoyances that I could have avoided. At some point I'll post them all, too, so that you, my vast array of readers, can benefit from my newfound knowledge. More on that later.
Anyway... I met a very nice lady in the terminal before boarding who had a baby girl just a few weeks younger than Fiona. We arranged to sit together so that a smaller section of people would be put out should both of our babies go into meltdown mode. Fiona, however, never melted down. She was amazing. I couldn't believe my luck. She didn't even have a poo-related disaster, although I did end up changing her at one point... simply because it was something to do, and at least I'd be able to say I'd changed a baby in an airplane lavatory (not really anything to write home about). I nursed Fi on the ascent in the hopes that it would prevent any painful ear popping. It apparently worked. And by the time we started the descent (said to be more painful for babies), she was asleep. But the most important and interesting tidbit about this particular flight is this: Fiona cut her first tooth! Just after we'd reached cruising altitude, I stuck my knuckle into her mouth as is normal for us only to find a sharp little addition in there. Considering this was something over which my little girl had absolutely no control, I couldn't have been prouder. And Fiona didn't have a word to say about the whole thing.
We flew direct to Minneapolis. It was more expensive to do so, but looking back I'm glad I did it. My Aunt Nancy and Uncle Dale picked us up, with a borrowed car seat all ready for Fiona. We stopped to pick up one more person in Minneapolis - Great Aunt Helen (or, to Fiona, Great-Great Aunt Helen) and set off for Fargo. Did I mention it was approximately eight degrees above zero when we landed? Yeah, good times.
We arrived in Fargo later that evening and went straight to my grandmother's house. She'd had no inkling that we would be showing up, and while she doesn't show a lot of emotion, she was clearly moved. Then all there was left to do was wait for my father's arrival. I had told my step-mother the day before that we were coming because I knew there was a chance my father would resist a random trip to my grandmother's house in the dead-cold of a North Dakota winter. I was right to have done so. He put up a fight, and my step-mother dragged his stubborn ass out of the house anyway and managed to keep mum about the real reason.
Good thing, too. In all my years, I've never seen my dad react the way he did when Fiona and I came around the corner. I'd never seen my dad cry or even tear up before that moment. He was so shocked he threw his hands up over his head and shouted something I can't remember. But it was a shout of pure happiness and surprise.
The next few days flew by in a blur of family time, eating, being too warm in my grandmother's well-heated house, and trying to maintain some semblance of Fiona's normal routine. Hard to do with a family who likes to stay up into the wee hours playing the card game golf. On February 17th, Grandma hit the 90-year mark and Fiona passed six months. Milestones all around. And the next morning,which came all too quickly, it was time to head back to Minneapolis. Of course, I missed M. And I missed all the comforts of the copious baby gear back home. But leaving my dad was tough to take.
My parents divorced when I was still a baby, and by the time I was two my mom had moved us to Montana and 600 miles away from my father. Until I had Fiona, I never realized how that might have been for him. I can barely fathom being away from her overnight, let alone 50 weeks out of the year. It makes me truly sad to think that Fiona will grow up so far away from her maternal grandfather and won't have a lot of opportunities to get to know him. It makes me more sad to think he won't have a lot of opportunities to get to know her, and I know that makes him sad, too.
But back to Minneapolis we went, to find our flight quite delayed. Which was OK because it gave me time to have a little lunch and Fiona time to have a massive, near-disastrous poo blowout. It was one of those blowouts where I knew if I left her in her stroller in the seated position for even 30 more seconds to get her to a restroom, the clothes she was wearing would need to simply be tossed. So I did the unthinkable: I changed her right there in the terminal waiting area. I've become one of those people. Oh, god, the humanity.
We got home with no problems, albeit a few hours late. To make up for it, Bobby Brown was on our flight, sitting in the same row as we were at the opposite window. Fiona's first celebrity! What good fortune to finish off her first big trip.
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