Tomorrow the boobah and I leave to go see my parents. We’re flying. Again. This kid has been on a plane more times already than I was my first 24 years of life.
But since we’re down to one breastfeeding session a day, that won’t be a big issue. But we will be traveling during naptimes and feeding times, which could get really ugly.
I’m trying to figure out what will work for a decent meal on the plane. And hope that he’ll get to sleep a little before we take off so he won’t be completely crabby while we sit on the runway.
My husband keeps telling me that traveling isn’t that bad. And it’s not, yet it is. It stresses me out. Always has. Add to that my worries about keeping the kid safe, fed, and mostly happy, and I’m stressed to the max. I hate traveling solo with the kid. I do.
Yet I do it anyway, because how else are his grandparents going to get to see him?
I really wanted to move back before he’s a year old. But considering that’s in two months, I don’t see that happening. In fact, with our current economic situation I’m not sure when we’ll ever be able to afford it. That really sucks. The best laid plans…
You see, I love California, yet I hate it. I hate all of the consumerism, the schools, and how expensive it is. I love the weather, the conveniences we have nearby, our many friends, and all the stuff we can do outdoors. I don’t do outdoors very well back home. The heat and humidity do me in. I get sick. It’s not pretty.
So I’m torn. I desperately want to be near my family (so does hubby). But I don’t know how we’ll afford it. It’s not like I’m going to be rolling in the money as a writer. (I’m just… okay. Not great, but passable. That certainly won’t bring in the big bucks.) How will we get a house? The only alternative I see right now is raiding my retirement fund for a down payment. And I really don’t want to do that, knowing that we’ll never pay it back, and if we do, I’ll lose the potential compounded interest.
In the meantime, I comfort myself with going back as frequently as we can. Which after Christmas, will probably be less frequent. I hate being so G.D. dependent on money. Money that we never have enough of.
I didn’t mean for this to go down this road. But there it is. I’m worried. Scared. I hate to travel. But I’m doing it anyway because my parents deserve to see their grandbaby. And we’ll certainly enjoy it while we’re there. This kid is on the verge of crawling, and it’s entirely possible he’ll start while we’re there. How cool would that be?