Viva Florida!

So I live in Florida now. Let me explain.

Wait, is too long, let me sum up: I didn’t leave Tom and we aren’t getting a divorce.
Okay, now the long version: Maggie and I are doing some extended visiting with our families. My parents and grandparents happened, in a brilliant moment of familial serendipity, to buy homes in or within five minutes of Tom’s hometown. The majority of Tom’s family still lives here. So in an effort to get our little girl more accustomed to her family and strengthen the bonds between grandparent and child and also eat a lot of Cuban sandwiches by the pool, I’m here with the baby until the end of July.
I spent my first day lying by the pool while Maggie took an extra-long nap and then read some blogs while my mother and Tom’s dad insisted on taking her for a walk. Those were possibly the most delicious 20 minutes OF MY YEAR.
I have a big photo roundup post prepared from our trip to the DC/Baltimore area, but I am bone-achingly exhausted. Just let me say this: you can prepare to travel with your child. You can prepare plans, you can make arrangements for their comfort. But you can’t fully realize how much travel will take out of your child until you arrive. It is the biggest crapshoot when traveling with a baby, one that can make your trip a delight or, to continue Princess Bride-ing you, break you on The Machine until you are more than mostly dead.
We had a good time, overall, but at the moment we are mostly dead. At least I am. Tom, being without wife or child to slow him down, is likely spending tonight drinking the beer I left in the hotel, calling room service for extra pillows, and passing out facedown in his new fluffy fort.
Maggie in particular is a red-hot mess of separation anxiety, smashed sleep schedules, and…how do I put this delicately…Belly Troubles. I feel nothing but wrenching guilt every time she cries these days, because it is almost always the pissed-off shrieks of confusion and disorientation. It will get better. I know it will. But for now…I need a Miracle Max. Or failing that, a decent night’s sleep in my childhood bed.
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