Somehow it’s gotten to be June and somehow my baby has actually grown out of newborn clothes and somehow we are going to gather all of us together onto a plane and fly to ”Amerika,” as my kids say.
I am not panicking.
We made it through a chicken pox scare at barnehage (two kids down in Emilian’s room) and a hearing-impairing viral ear thing with Karel (went to the doctor just in case). My focus and worry has been so much on keeping the kids healthy that it didn’t occur to me until my own tonsils started swelling that sick parents aren’t really so great to have on a flight either. So yesterday I missed Ann Inger’s birthday celebration (and the ”very, very, VERY, veryvery big white cake” that was served) in order to rest and not perpetuate a throat infection. Luckily for me, Sunday is ER rerun day, so while the baby slept I watched two episodes of ER (the ones where Carter is stabbed and Lucy dies), then and episode and a half of Lost, then a little bit more ER, THEN the beginning of a Swedish baking show before everyone came home. Honestly, it felt like a vacation. My brain was switched off for like four straight hours. It was sad to miss the party, but on the whole a wise choice.
Anyway, back to not panicking.
We are totally stoked to show off our babies to our loved ones in the States. I can hardly believe how big they are, so I’m prepared for the reactions of shock once we see folks we haven’t seen in more than a year. My biggest concern at the moment? Getting Emil Birk through the flight. We’re talking 30 pounds of dynamo, here. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this child was the son of an octopus. Hands. Everywhere. We’ve already started discussing strategy: Man-to-man defense on Emil at all times. He’s in that phase where dumping things out is the ultimate entertainment…. so he will be a nearly 3 year old with a sippy cup on this flight. Slowly conquering our minimalistic tendencies, we’ve ordered kid-size headphones so we can actually make use of the in-flight entertainment. That’s all we’ve got so far. Bjørn is convinced ”do-it-myself Emilian” is going to insist on flying the plane himself. Keep your eyes on the news for that.
My mantra? ”All we have to do is get there. The flight won’t last forever.” That’s kind of long for a mantra, but you get the sentiment.
We still have seven days to refine our strategies. For now I’m washing my tonsils with coffee, just surviving a day at a time.
See you soon!