Last night we returned from our 10 day stay in New Jersey. It was quite an exhausting trip between being a bridesmaid in one rather hectic wedding, attending another wedding (each one a practically 3 day affair) the next week, introducing our new son to about a thousand relatives on both sides, and somehow feeding the baby every 2 to 3 hours in the midst of it all. The middle of the week we spent recovering from the first wedding, visiting with a few friends, and trying to store up energy for the next wedding. The baby was so good, though, he made it as easy as I think it possibly could have been. He is so precious and beautiful.
On the way to New Jersey, the baby sat on my chest and then on his dad's chest in his carrier thing for the first half of the plane ride. When it was time to change A.J., Andrew took him to the restroom where there was a changing table. After awhile, I found myself getting bored. Time wore on. I tapped my fingers on the arm rest. I know this is supposed to be a cliche, but...did they fall in? I turned around in my seat to look towards the restrooms. No Andrews. A long line to the bathrooms was stringing further and further into the aisle.
Finally, Andrew returned with the baby. "Where were you guys?" I said.
In the restroom, the baby discovered his reflection in the mirror. He stared at himself, then looked to the reflection of his dad, then back to himself, then back again to his dad. His eyes widened as he moved his hand, and the hand of the mini-person in the mirror moved correspondingly. He opened his mouth wide, making his sweet, toothless smile for the first time at himself.
Now that they were back with me, we put down the tray tables in front of us, unfolded the baby's portable changing pad with the soft side up, and laid the baby onto it. He smiled as we showered kisses, smiles, and soft, happy words upon him. When his awake-time was over, we turned him onto his belly (he won't sleep on his back), and he konked out until it was time to nurse him for the descent.
I can't even remember the baby crying the entire flight. When we arrived, Andrew and I were like: "I think that was the most fun we've ever had on a flight before."
On a separate note, other than finding the location of a good church and a job as the bare essentials for moving to a place, one might also wish to choose where one lives based on the food. Nothing can beat real pizza (No, not New York pizza. When you live in the New York area, it's just called pizza) We stuffed ourselves on pizza as often as we could for lunch or dinner. I think we actually bought pizza four different times while we were there.
And nothing can beat real bagels gooshing with real cream cheese (it's not necessary to toast them, because they're made fresh that morning. and the bread is just so dense!). Not to mention, I tend to prefer the coffee one can only find at those delis. My favorite bagel place is always so inspirational to me. I found myself soliliquizing again as we got into the car and I tried to internalize the experience: "Soh-w aye did sum reeel sow-l sehr-ching, end aye fow-nd that at haht, aye tr-ewly w-aw-nted sum caw-fee." Have you ever noticed that people with New York/North Jersey accents really emphasize their W's? My husband has a subtle New Jeresey accent, so if you listen, you'll notice that he pronounces the W in "Andrew" much more than your average person.