February Flashback to Fargo

As I mentioned in the January Flashback post, February was a pretty big month for little Fiona. So what if February was eight million years ago? Let's get recap-tastic!

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.

Favorite Photo Fridays

Because I have been blessed with such an adorable, photogenic child, I am implementing a new feature here called Favorite Photo Fridays. I would imagine this is pretty self-explanatory. It's Friday. There are photos. And I will share my favorites with all of you. As if Friday isn't awesome enough just by its very nature. Could it get any better? Let's commence with the further awesomeness, then, shall we?


This was taken in late February in our back yard. She's sitting in a little sled contraption that her father sat in when he was her age. It was such a ridiculous winter with all the cold and rain that this was the one time we were able to actually put her in it.




Every time I look at this picture, I have to laugh. Fiona makes the funniest little faces sometimes. If I were Photoshop-inclined, I could do all sorts of amusing things with this shot, but I'm sure someone will be doing some random image search on Google one day and come across this little gem and do that for me.


This one was taken just a week ago and really captures Fiona's usual attitude about everything. Plus, it shows off her awesome new sitting-up skills! Fi is really, truly a happy baby. In all honesty, I just don't know how we got so lucky.


This is another one of those that just makes me so happy to look at. It's the "crazy happy" look. It was an accidental picture, but I laugh every time I see it.

And that's it for this week's installment of Favorite Photo Fridays. Hope you enjoyed. Tune in next week for more photographic phun!

Month Six Stats

Fiona's six-month checkup was nearly two weeks after she actually turned six months. That happened while we were in Fargo, North Dakota. And it's partly to blame for the fact that her turning seven months completely sneaked up on me. Up until a week before then, when I finally took a good look at the calendar, I was still saying she was just over six months old.

At this point, it's all a numbers game. Time continues to go faster and faster, and months are measured in minutes it seems. Her "age" at this point isn't as significant as turning age one, or age two; although, I remember distinctly as a young girl that the six-month "birthday" was highly important, and after that point I was not just "ten" but "ten and-a-half, thank you very much." With Fiona I see every month older she becomes as anchors in time that I can actually grasp, unlike normal time, which is continually getting away from me.

So with a couple (okay, three...plus) weeks under our belts, it's time to review the results of Fiona's six-month doctor visit. Get crazy with the stats!

Weight: 20 pounds, 10 ounces. Just over a four-pound gain, her largest jump in a while. Naturally, she remains in the 97th percentile. She's fat, happy, and looks like the Michelin baby with all those rolls. I'm starting to think my boobs are dispensing lard. In case you're wondering, yes, the creases of the rolls collect all sorts of things: lint, drool, spit-up, and breastmilk. They're typically a main focus of bathtime.

Length: 26 3/4 inches, a gain of an inch and a quarter. Starting to have a body shape more like Mom and Dad's every day. Our little fire hydrant baby dropped from the 90th percentile for weight into the 55th. We're pretty sure she's storing most of it in two places: her massive brain and her meaty ham-hock thighs.

All told, the doctor was pleased with her health. She had a bit of fluid in her right ear that we were told to keep an eye on. The pediatrician asked again about solids, which at the time we had not started. I really hadn't been in much of a hurry to start them for whatever reason. But when the doctor suggested we start supplementing her with vitamins since she probably wasn't getting enough Vitamin D or iron through just breast milk, I made up my mind immediately to get cracking. Fiona had her next round of vaccinations, after which she bawled like the baby she is for a few minutes, and we were on our way.

The next appointment won't be until she's nine months... which, based on how quickly time is passing, will be in approximately 20 minutes by my internal clock. In the meantime, please enjoy this picture taken in mid-February.

Adventures in Business Travel

I'm sitting on the Acela Express in New York City's Penn Station, waiting to pull out and start the four-plus hour ride home. I spent the day here at a conference for work. I enjoyed myself, learned some new things, saw some former co-workers and talked shop. But it's been an all-day thing. I'm tired, I'm a little burned, and I'm pissed that the train is currently running 33 minutes behind schedule. Make that 34.

This is the first day I've really spent away from Fiona. Not like your average workday, where I leave home around 7:00 after feeding her and spending a good 30 minutes with her; when I get home around 6:30 and get a good two and-a-half more hours with her before we put her to bed. It's not even quite like the days when I actually do something after work with other adults and don't get home until late.

35 minutes late...

Today, I left the house at 4:40 to catch my 5:24 train to New York. Fiona wasn't exactly asleep, much to her father's dismay no doubt. But the four seconds I was with her as I put her back into her crib before leaving the house wasn't exactly time well spent.

37 minutes late...

Of course, I did get to spend much of the night with her. The little stinker had the audacity to NOT sleep through the night for a change and bade me collect her for a feeding at 1:00 this morning. She's a sleeping angel when it doesn't count. But somehow, she knew I would be getting far less sleep than is typically necessary for me and she opted to make it a little worse by getting me up in the wee hours. But co-sleep time is also not quality time.

39 minutes late...

Today I will have spent the entirety of her true waking hours apart from her. And my god, how I miss her. When will this cursed train start moving? As it was, I would not have arrived at the Rte 128 station in Dedham until nearly 10:30. Now, it will be after 11:00. And another 30 minutes before I reach home after that. There's a part of me that hopes she's awake when I arrive. But that's the selfish, bad-parent part who just wants to hold her and give her a kiss and tell her how much I love her.

Electrical problems? You're checking out electrical problems on the train that are delaying our departure? Screw you and your electrical problems! Don't you realize I have a baby daughter who turned seven months old today who is waiting for me? Who needs me??

43 minutes late...

It doesn't help, either, that I opted out of a late afternoon pump session thinking I'd be home in a timely enough fashion that it wasn't necessary. I think that wasn't a great decision. Yeah, definitely not. These suckers are going to need some attention pretty soon.

Oh, well.

We're moving now. 44 minutes late. This business of being away from her is seriously going to take some getting used to. I have an overnighter coming up in a few weeks. But at least for that one, transportation won't be out of my hands. I'll get to come and go as I please. And I think I just might leave early.

...

Nope, never mind. We're not moving. We went for about 5 minutes and stopped again. "Waiting for 2 westbound trains to clear the area." Well, screw you and your westbound trains. How about giving the train that's a full hour behind schedule the right of way!!! My kid will have forgotten who I am by the time I get back. And my boobs hurt. This does not bode well.

8:07. Finally moving. So help me god if we stop again for anything other than legitimate station stops...

(p.s. As I did not have Internet access while actually on my little business travel adventure last night, I am posting after-the-fact. Of course, I realize this reduces the impact. I am okay with this.)

Goodbye, Montana

Most of you know I moved to Massachusetts from Billings, Montana nearly 10 years ago. At the time, I left thinking that someday I'd probably go back "home" to live there permanently. I grew up there; many of my dearest friends were there; and, most importantly, my mother was there. Through the ensuing years, a lot has changed. I've really made a home and a life for myself in Massachusetts. I got married to M, we bought a house, got a dog. And now we have Fiona. I spent my most formative growing-up years in MT, but I've really become an adult in MA. Even so, Montana has always been what I think of when someone says "hometown."

As of today, my most important link to Montana is gone. My mother, untethered by marriage, mortgage, or job, packed as many of her belongings as would fit into her sparkly red convertible Mustang and hit the road. As I write this, she's making her way to the sunnier climes of Phoenix, Arizona, where she plans to live for the duration.

I can't blame my mom. In fact, I'm really psyched for her. After all, I had my own similar adventure when I moved here, and clearly it has worked out. But I'm sad, too. Montana has always been one of the main characters in my life story, and having a home base there was a significant comfort. I always knew that if, for some reason, things didn't work out so well here, there was always Montana... there was always "home."

I'm fortunate to have my own little family, though. M and Fiona, along with the animals, our friends, and our lives here are my real home now. And I still have a few lovely friends back in Montana to be my home base (they probably won't put us all up for weeks at a time, and cook for us, and generally host us like my mom would have... although perhaps now is the time to ask). It's just going to be weird to go back to Montana as a pure visitor, not as someone who "sort of lives here" by virtue of her mother's residence.

To be sure, M, Fiona and I will all take the long trip one day so I can have the pleasure of showing my daughter where I grew up, where I went to school, where I played and had friends. All around my favorite places in Billings - the sandstone cliffs that line the northern part of the city known as the rimrocks; the downtown area; the mall where I spent countless hours of my pre-teen years. And we'll all go to my favorite places around the state, too - Beartooth Pass, Yellowstone National Park, Cooke City, Bozeman, Missoula, and Fairmont Hot Springs. I do love that state. And who knows? Maybe someday my new little family and I will go back there to stay.