I understand there is some sort of kerfuffle going on in the world. People panicking, going into lockdown mode. I’ve been sitting on the beach, sipping cold beer, and listening to the waves come in. We all react to existential threats in our own way, I suppose.
I want to share a few thoughts on Loreto, Mexico, but first a public service announcement: Traveling with an infant severely modifies the vacation dynamic.
More on that later.
The transition from Portland rain to Baja sun proved disconcerting for the bambina. (See, more on that already.) What can you expect from someone born in Portland in late November? This kind of heat is an entirely new and unpleasant experience for her.
I, on the other hand, am enjoying this brief excursion to a sunnier clime.
Step by step it grows increasingly real.
My beautiful wife attended her baby shower last night and returned laden with ridiculously tiny outfits and boxes containing gadgets of arcane purpose. The boys bought me beer at my nearby watering hole and reminisced. Today I assembled a three-wheeled stroller and puzzled out the method of locking a baby seat into the stroller’s frame.
Something is changing.
There is a certain tradition in Mexico – or so MBW tells me – that the husband purchases his wife another ring to commemorate a new child. Today I picked up a piece of jewelry, sterling silver and blue and white topaz. MBW will need to resize it once the swelling in her fingers recedes.
Step by step.
I have new furnishings that I can make no use of. I have plastic contraptions that rattle and beep. This place once felt pretty roomy. Each new preparatory accretion renders the condo more and more – let’s say cozy.
MBW is laundering a pile of towels sufficient to dry off an army. Well, an army of very small soldiers. And we’ve got blankets enough to keep each miniature myrmidon warm.
I attended a class on infant CPR the other day. I filled those plastic lungs with my own breath and compressed that little chest.
So, yeah. Getting real.