It's Good To Be Home

It's now been one week, and as I suspected, I'm not only thrilled, but life is a hell of a lot easier with a new baby in my own home.

Travel back in time 8 days to our flight home from Fort Lauderdale. The morning began very early with our friend Aaron, who graciously came by our "home" at 7am before his work day started to help us return his friend's borrowed cradle before taking us to the airport. We'd slept a cumulative, oh, I don't know, 6 hours over the past couple of nights, but that didn't matter when the alarm sounded at 5:30 that morning for me to pump one last time in that space.

After staring at the car seat cluelessly before getting some much needed assistance loading Dylan in, we were off to the races. We've never arrived so early for a flight in our lives, but there we were, almost 3 hours in advance - for a flight delayed 1-1/2 hours. God damned San Francisco weather.

Meanwhile, the pumping continued - in the airport. I got a portable one for milking on-the-go, like the cow that I've become - not like in a fat way - just in a fluids way. Anyway, the pump went out on me when I briefly lost one of the parts in Gate C23. I almost had a nervous breakdown in a bathroom stall where I tried to fix it, as I envisioned my engorged boobs exploding on the plane. It was only by the grace of God that I discovered the only thing standing between me and a pain-free bosom was a stupid little sticker Medela actually considers to be a real part. Thankfully, I had extras of these.

When it came time to board the plane, we encountered the usual dipshits who line up before their section is called. Tell me, if you are not traveling with small children, do not need a wheelchair, and are not part of the airline's elite travel club with a membership of 3 people, why the f*** are you in line? GET OUT OF MY WAY.

Thankfully, once on board, things became remarkably perfect. Dylan flew like a champ, not having a single meltdown. We fed him on takeoff, landing, and once in the middle - and changed him twice. We each watched a movie and napped very (very) briefly. It was oddly the shortest 6-hour flight I've ever experienced (even in spite of the flight attendant who forced me into conversation while waiting for the restroom about her broken acrylic nail and its relative comparison to our past 2 months in Florida - no, really).

My sister picked us up from SFO, and upon walking into our house, we were greeted by my niece, brother-in-law and the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. As we made our way back to the nursery, we saw that furniture had been delivered and headway was being made on setting everything up.

Over the next few days, my sister was nothing short of spectacular as she ran errands, cooked dinners, cleaned the house, and did absolutely anything we asked her to do. This allowed Brad and me to focus on taking care of Dylan and settling into the semblance of a routine with him - and Moby (who was a bit stand-offish when we first arrived, but now loves to hang out in Dylan's room on the rug he seems to think was purchased for him, and lick his "brother's" head)!

I find myself in a situation probably foreign to most new moms - stress-free and well-rested, certainly relative to the past few weeks. Brad and I have worked out a system whereby we switch off the middle of the night and early morning feedings. Dylan is happy with the milk, whatever the source. And I am happy to be pumping only once each day now! (Thank you, Day One lactation consultant.)

We've pounded the pavement pretty much every day - since here, pedestrians can actually walk without fear of being struck by a car. People marvel at the fact that I am already out and about with my little baby - and I tell them they just don't know how easy this really is. Meanwhile, it is true that there seemingly are never enough hours in the day to do all that we need to do. But I look forward to the next day, knowing that we can spend it however we'd like - namely, outside of a hospital.

Indeed, it's good to be home.