Hello again Internets! I’ve just returned from a short business trip to Seattle and St. Laura the Tolerant was nice enough to surrender her blog to me again. For anybody that’s never been on business travel, it sucks. You’ve got to be on your best behavior the entire time and pretend that you would like nothing better than to go out to dinner with these near total strangers instead of sitting in the hotel room eating an overcooked room service hamburger and watching Shark Week. Plus, I had to be away from my lovely wife and little boy for 3 whole days.
Apparently the first weekend in August is the ultimate family travel weekend. Seattle airport was filled with little ones clinging sleepily to their parents (our flight was at 7:00 AM), and Atlanta was filled with even more little ones struggling crankily to get away from their parents (our flight was delayed 5 hours). At one point a little girl about Max’s age had decided that none of this made sense, that we were all silly for putting up with it, and that she had had quite enough thankyouverymuch. It’s funny how a screaming baby, once a major annoyance to me, now just makes me homesick.
I’ve always tried to take the advice Laura gets on her blog comments to heart. The one consistent comment is to treasure every moment. Max won’t be a baby forever. I’ve never realized this more strongly than on the flight home. There was a little boy of about 3 in the seat in front of me. He had been delayed just as long as I had, but was being much more mature about it than me. I couldn’t see him, but I heard all his questions about the “aiwpwane” and his parents’ patient answers. A few minutes later he put his hand against the window where I could see it through the crack between the seat and the wall. All I could think was that this little boys hand was enormous. This little boy's hand was much too big to grasp at my fingers while I was feeding him a bottle. This little boy's hand was strong enough to get him out of bed without his daddy's help. This will be Max’s hand in a few short years.
When I finally got home I greeted Laura and headed upstairs to see my little man. There he was, scooted into the corner of his crib with his hands clenched into tiny fists looking like the tiny baby he still is. I look forward to teaching him about “aiwpwanes” and “twains” and all the other things little boys like, but for now I’m happy to get to know my baby, and I’m treasuring every moment.