A birthmark the shape of Maine

Ack... not a lot of time for writing here lately. My novel is stalled at two chapters and I am very, very behind on folding and putting away laundry. Maybe I can keep doing what I am doing and justify it as, "Well, my entire apartment is my bureau..." Yeah, I live in a bureau. I am full-time at work now and my milk supply is not as abundant as it once was since I spend less time with Liam. We supplement one feeding a day with formula now and I am still having a hard time thinking about that.

Last week my sister got married next to a beautiful lake in central Maine. Karsten was happier that weekend than I have ever seen her, and her new husband was looking at her as though she was magical. Maybe she is. They are in Italy right now. Italy! With this man, Karsten will be supported and encouraged in her creativity (he is a writer and artist) and they will TRAVEL. They are beautiful.

The wedding in Maine meant Liam's first major travels (further than Gabe and I got until we were in our early twenties!) and first plane ride. It went remarkably well... at first. We had connecting flights because there is no such thing as a non-stop flight from Dallas to Portland. He slept for the entire flight to Cleveland, and most of the flight from there to Portland. That last leg was just an hour and a half! Too bad we don't live in Cleveland, eh? (While I'm too-badding, too bad we don't live in Maine. Ahem.)

We rented a Ford Escape at the jetport, which I got to drive since I am finally of rental car age and don't have to pay out of me arse for not being twenty-five. I'm twenty-five now, so there! (Gabe is twenty-four.) It was really nice to drive a new vehicle and for the steering wheel not to shake when I reach 50 miles per hour.

As expected, everyone loves Liam. Until this past weekend, the only person in my family who'd met Liam was my mum. She visited us when he was five weeks old. My dad had a tear in the corner of his eye when he met him. My brothers could not stop holding him. Karsten adores him. At the wedding my aunts and uncles and cousins all enjoyed him. He was pretty sleepy the whole time.

He matured while we were in Maine, he changed and grew a lot. I think it was the air- cool and clean and pure. It could have been all of that love for him from new people who loved him before they even met him. Or the fact that Gabe and I are so much happier when we are in Maine. Maybe it was all of that. Once we got there he looked at things differently and smiled and talked and squealed more. And I swear he grew.

On the way home, he slept during most of the flight from Portland to Newark. Newark to Dallas... um, not so much. We heard him poop just before we took off. Normally, for reasons I can't really explain, I think it's hilarious when my son poops. This time, with the prospect of not being able to get up to change him until the pilots deemed it safe to move about the cabin, I envisioned the poop oozing out the top of the back of his diaper and smearing on his back and clothes. I'd forgotten to pack him an extra set of clothes in case of this kind of emergency.

Then he fell asleep. We didn't smell anything. The back of his onesie was staying clean and dry. Sweeeeet... I fell asleep too. When I woke up a little later, with Liam in my arms, Gabe suggested we change his diaper. As I readjusted Liam to squeeze out of my window seat I felt the wetness. There was a HUGE wet spot on the front of my shirt, not to mention Liam's legs and front. Fan-freakin-tastic.

We still didn't know the poop situation so we both went to the bathroom to assess it and deal with it- in case one adult was needed for wiping and one adult was needed for holding Liam's feet away from his diaper. Have you ever tried to fit two adults in an airplane bathroom? HOW DOES THE MILE-HIGH CLUB WORK??? Gabe had to stand in the doorway with the door open. We decided to leave Liam in just his diaper for the remainder of the flight. Good thing I at least remembered a blanket. (And good thing the poop sounded worse and bigger than it was.)

He didn't sleep at all after that, which meant he was awake for landing, which meant he didn't know what to do about the change in air pressure except cry, which meant he refused to nurse or use his pacifier to help alleviate the pain. That poor kid. He was so brave and strong! As soon as we were on the ground he was like, "Hey what's up?" and he fell asleep as soon as he hit his car seat. I am so proud of him. Now he's all travel-savvy.

Today he is four months old. I don't know where time has gone.

And my pre-pregnancy size 6 jeans are a little loose on me! (So are my thighs.)