Weary weary fradafradackin' weary

I have had a great time since the 18th of this month in many respects. You see, it was the 18th when I left home to get on a plane and come to Virginia for our visit. We saw a lovely wedding, introduced the B to the most important and beloved of our friends, and finally got the other half of the B's grandparents in the same room with her.

It's been eventful. Wonderful. Tiring. Challenging. Luggage-testing. Unexpectedly expensive, after I left our old digital camera on the plane on our way out, and we had to buy a new one to replace it.

Through it all, my tiny little B has been a trooper. She suddenly was asked to sleep in her pack 'n' play instead of her crib, and she shrugged it off. She's been all sorts of places, from a pagoda in downtown Norfolk VA to breakfast joints in northern Virginia, and she's grinned her toothless, drooly grin through all of it.

She had one tough hour or two at the reception, but that was our fault for shorting her on her solid food that day. Other than that blip (which taught me to have a spoon and a container each of a fruit and vegetable in my diaper bag for emergencies), she's been a model of a sweet little B.

She's been teething the entire trip, but you wouldn't really be able to tell from her mood. She keens a little (not loud enough to actually call it crying) when she needs to bite on something, then goes back to life as usual when she's done.

She's napped on time nearly every day and has only given me minimal trouble at bedtime, considering how completely off her routine we are. She dropped off at exactly the right time tonight completely on her own, even self-correcting to central time in anticpation of our departure tomorrow.

I knew before this that I believed she was the sweetest little thing. Now that I've seen her roll with everything we've done over the past ten days, she's my hero.

For my part, I'm happy, but weary. It will be good beyond words to be home. I've loved visiting my parents, but it's just not the same as being in my own house with my own stuff and my own routines. It's always weird sleeping in what was my sister's room before it became the guest room, and seeing my baby bottles drying on their counter just looks like a nonsensical juxtaposition.

Tomorrow is a flurry of packing and hoping that I haven't left anything, then a waiting game, and then the agony of an airport with a tiny baby with only me to tote that bale once I hit the security gates. That thought makes me want to cry, until I picture myself trying to board the plane, carrying my ever-more-heavy baby in her car seat along with all the stuff she needs to have with her in the cabin of the plane.

I just keep saying what I said many months ago, just before the big move when I was overwhelmed with stuff to do and no time or energy to accomplish it in. The big and little hands keep moving on the clock face, and it will all be over, for better, for neutral, for worse, when it will be over.

But say a little somethin' for travel-weary me, in hopes of sending me "for better" karma, huh?