if only I could stow him safely in the overhead compartment

I am nervous. Tomorrow morning is the Babe's first plane ride, and I don't know how he (or me for that matter) is going to handle it. Though a well traveled boy in utero (he's technically been to Regina, Saskatchewan; Halifax, Nova Scotia; St. John's, Newfoundland; and even Addis Ababa, Ethiopia), he's so far remained fairly stationary since he's thrown open his arms to the world, announcing his arrival as if by proclaiming "I'm here, dahling! I poop, therefore I am!" I previously prepared to fly by not preparing at all. Two hours before my scheduled departure I would throw a load of laundry in the washer of all those things I needed to pack. Madly dashing to the airport, I would itemize and memorize those necessities I'd left behind in haste - toothbrush, tweezers, socks - and make a note to self to stop at the store upon arrival to stock up. You can't really do this when you're towing a Babe. The journey has to be finely choreographed as if it were up for a Tony. It is this requirement that had me make a quick trip to the St. Laurent mall last night equipped with a mental list of the items I needed to pick up for the Babe in preparation for his visit with the first batch of cousins, two little boys who he is someday going to get into so much trouble with that their interactions will require constant supervision.

Diapers and vitamin D. Diapers and vitamin D. A repeated duo, over and over, lest I forget what I had gotten in the car and set out to do. Diapers and vitamin D. Diapers and vitamin D. Whoops! Stop sign! And after hitting the brakes with just a little too much force, my mind wandered from the Baby Essentials aisle of Shopper's Drug Mart to the Seinfeld episode where Kramer stops short with George's mother in the car, infuriating George's father for stealing his move. I'm not sure stopping short is just a move, I thought to myself. I think you can probably tell if someone really cares about you if they stick out their arm in front of you when the car stops too quickly, as if this puny limb could prevent the full weight of a body from catapulting out the windshield in the event of an unfortunate accident. Mom used to do this for me. I remember doing it once or twice to the Bro on the way to school. Adoring and Wonderful Husband has in the past been my human seat belt as well. (Of course, always in addition to the real deal. Seat belts save lives kids!) Hmm. Maybe this is something I can blog about. How if someone sticks out their arm to save you when they're stopping short, it's a sign they really, truly love you. Ah! Look at that! What a great parking spot! I'll just turn the corner here and...and promptly lose my stream of thought, my mind off to the races with another random topic. (But I just want to point out here that this is what my days have been reduced to. Trying to pinpoint those moments or activities that are blog worthy. And then drafting a future entry about the topic in my head. It's sad really.)

Fast forward through one hour of focused and determined shopping. Getting into the Ford, I hastily threw my purchases on the passenger seat. Okay, did I get everything I need? Diapers? Check! Vitamin D? Check! Absolutely fabulous pointy toed leather sandals that were all the rage last season and so may be out of style this summer but I can't really be too picky about that kind of thing since I have size 11 wide skis that are a whole size bigger than even Adoring and Wonderful Husband's feet, and oh my god is he ever going to be maaaadddd that I just wrote that? Check! Okay, then, let's go! And cruising quickly down the main drag on the way home, my previous musings about stopping short didn't even occur to me until - lo and behold - I again misjudged my speed and was forced to come to a screeching halt and - what's this? - my hand automatically reached over TO SAVE MY SHOES FROM GOING THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD! I was confused. What did I just do, I wondered? PROVE my theory, or DISPROVE it? It's a fine, fine line, my friends. Because the shoes are just so cute (or, at least, as cute as size 11 wide can ever get).