Funny how the thought of your baby coughing up blood puts things in perspective.
For example, last night when I was playing with him on the floor of the nursery at 2:30 AM I was not sleepy and frustrated, I was happily reflecting on what an honor it is to be entrusted with this precious child to love and raise.
And as he was screaming snotty, miserable sobs into my shoulder at 3:00, I wasn't making a mental note to Google "gypsy baby brokers" the next morning, I was peacefully grateful for his otherwise good health and my good fortune at having a normally even-tempered boy.
Ha ha HA. Who do you think I am, Mother Theresa? I mean, I am grateful and I know I am lucky, but who thinks like that in the middle of the night?
But when he finally did fall asleep contentedly in my arms at 3:30 I was grateful to have one more opportunity to let him fall asleep close to me where I could admire his sweet, peaceful face and feel his warm body snuggled tight against me. And now I am being sincere.
And when I put him in his crib and he stayed asleep? I did a little silent happy dance right there next to the crib and whispered "Thanks for going to sleep, sweet boy, but you know that thing I promised about the race car was a metaphor, right?"
I'm spending the day getting ready for our trip. I bought Charlie some disposable diapers (even though I'd love to find one of those 'Your bag was inspected by the happy, friendly TSA' cards inside a bag full of dirty prefolds, we're trying to simplify). The kid wears SIZE FOUR diapers now. The boy on the package is STANDING UP PUSHING A LAWNMOWER. Important preparations that have been completed include going to Starbucks, making a packing list, going to Target for wipes, leaving Target with wipes, a cord for my iPod, and Pack and Play sheets (pink ones because that is what they had). Better get moving.