It’s finally here. The day I’ve been dreading/eagerly awaiting for several months. The baby and I will be getting on a plane to Utah in a few hours. We’re leaving the boys behind and having a girl party. We won’t be back in New York until September.
I’ve been trying to anticipate the responses to questions people may ask on the plane:
“She’s three weeks old.”
“Two of my siblings are getting married in the next few weeks.”
“I have two more kids at home at home with their dad.”
“I hope she’ll sleep through the flight, but no promises. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks and she keeps changing.”
“Trust me, I’m more nervous about this than you are.”
But we’ll get through it, probably with some bouncing, some walking down the aisle, some sling-wearing, and lots of nursing. I’m hoping to get a crossword puzzle started, maybe even finished. I’m hoping I don’t spend the whole time trying to keep her from being upset. I’m hoping that I’ll get to feel a bit of pride and a lot of relief when we step off the plane and the surrounding passengers comment on what a sweet little baby I have. Mostly, I’m hoping to get there safe and sound.
Keep your fingers crossed for me.