the trip

We're back from our travels and now the countdown starts with a real audible ticking in the background. T-minus 13 days until I return to school and Gabriel begins full-time daycare. So frightening is this fact that after writing the above sentence, I wandered away to complete as many inconsequential tasks as possible to avoid thinking much about it. We're going over to D. Fantastic's tomorrow to play and get acquainted with the idea of easing into full-time over a week or so.
We tried daycare at the wedding (a lovely affair) over the weekend, actually. The bride's family has lots of little kids and they thoughtfully provided a babysitter for the reception. I left Gabriel playing happily on the floor in a back room at the fancy estate they had rented for the party, but when I peeked in 20 minutes later, he was red-faced and weeping. Screaming, actually, and looking around in a very panicked way. Poor little guy! And here I am cramming cheese and canapes down my gullet. A little cuddle calmed him down and we sat down to play. I left after he got real involved in his play-telephone. 15 minutes later, one of the girls came down to the reception to find me. Gabriel's screaming had started all the other baby's crying apparently. They'd had to call in reinforcements from the catering staff. Oh dear. So Gabriel spent a couple hours with us at the reception, flirting with our friends and growling appreciatively at the speeches, until finally, ready to collapse (him, not us. Well, us too, but we were determined to have a dance), we put him to bed in the den o' babies where he slept like a log. I'm trying not to let this experience freak me out, though. Many particulars are different. First of all, the baby sitters weren't exactly the most professional; they seemed to expect the babies to amuse themselves with the help of Pinocchio on the big screen TV. Luckily, I had a bag full of toys that they could play with. The sitters, 2 young teens and their aunt, who confided in me that she hadn't watched kids since she was a teenager, weren't so much in the distract and cuddle techniques that might work on a baby who just realized his mom's gone. Plus, we'd been travelling for constantly for three days at that point and there's nothing like a brand-spanking new situation to make a small little guy go, "hmmm, I wish my mom was here." So, I refuse to panic and will continue with Project: Babycare as planned. I will push all images of Gabriel weeping inconsolably on the floor of the baby farm far, far from my mind.
Actually, the trip on the whole was good. We had fun seeing friends. We ate a lot of bacon. Flying cross-country was as painless as possible, I think, with Gabriel sleeping a good chunk of it there and back. The only mini-disaster was a diaper-blowout on the flight back, of the oh-my-god-what's-that-smell-and-what-is-that-on-my-arm variety. And of course, I'd forgotten to pack a change of clothes for Gabriel. I was all prepared on the way out, but the as the trip progressed the diaper bag became a catch-all sort of thing. I probably took out the baby-clothes to make room for more toys and a sandwich (for me!). So Gabriel spent the rest of the flight wearing his velour track jacket and his diaper. At least I remembered the diaper. He looked pretty cool, actually.