|Unrelated image of a baby with a miniature pint glass. Can't decide which is cuter.|
The trip was largely uneventful, save for a leeeetle situation on the tail end where the airline lost our luggage. Like, all our luggage. Which, as it happens, was roughly all of our worldly possessions, if you will recall. So. I was a tad emotional at 1 am last Friday morning while trying to explain to the poor service rep at baggage claim that if I lost my Frye boots I would, in fact, be very destitute indeed, and could he vow to me that they would not be stolen and gleefully pranced about in by a nefarious TSA employee at Boston Logan? No? You can't promise me that? Well then I will cry. Pathetic, heaving sobs bred of hormones and the sheer exhaustion of a 26 hour journey with toddlers.
Also, if anyone is in the business of flying economy class with Aer Lingus, might I recommend you do your homework a bit regarding their 'bassinet' accommodations for the wee passengers? Our reserved 'baby crib' was a cardboard box which was ceremoniously crammed into the space between pulldown trays in our bulkhead row. And it was a dead ringer for the container you might bring Fido home from the vet in. Anyway, JP loved it. And didn't even soil the newspapers they'd lined it with.
Anyway, we're home. It's more glorious than I could ever, EVER have imagined, Dave loves his new job, and I have only been asked by a handful of strangers if I am aware of how busy I'm going to be and whether or not I'll be laboring in their presence shortly. Americans sure do have a way with the pregnant ladies...
In a fortuitous stroke of coincidence, Dean Martin is serenading me with 'That's Amore' from the Starbucks sound system at this very moment...so I'll take that as my cue to beat a hasty retreat back to my bambini.
Ciao for now!
p.s. This is 100% representative of the way I feel right now.