I remember when I was in college, they used to call Finals Hell Week. At the time it seemed appropriate, but after the 10 days I just had, the idea that college finals could be Hell is just funny to me.
So I had this genius idea that I should mix a business trip to Philadelphia for a 3 day long conference with a family visit in Lancaster, 60 miles west of Philadelphia. Hannah would get grandparent time, I could commute on the train, and all would work out just peachy. Great idea, right?
Ok, so the train rides was fun.
But other than that, it was one of those things that are a good idea in theory, but not so much in practice.
Hannah was uncomfortable in a new place with new smells and new people and a new pack and play, so she was waking up every 90 minutes or so through the night and refusing to go back to sleep.
The polar vortex came back and I was freezing my ass off waiting for the train and trudging around Philadelphia when I could have just stayed in the nice warm Marriott attached to the convention center, and never have had to go outside.
All the stress of being with family was mixed with the stress of trying to be professional throughout the day after my commute and trudge through the snow.
And then Hannah got croup. I took her to urgent care, they scared the shit out of me telling me her oxygen levels were low and I needed to go to the ER, and we couldn't travel on our planned day, and were stuck in Lancaster for a few extra days. Oh, and they took her temp rectally and gave her a steroid shot, so she was a real joy that evening. Poor baby.
All of this while I was trying to work on a huge IMLS grant (Institute of Museum and Library Services) that was due this past Monday at 2pm.
When I finally did fly back I was in one of Dante's outer circles of hell. The way out I had Hannah in her own seat which was great. But because of all the changing of flights and the last minute cancellations, that was a little pricey to do for the two of us, so she sat on my lap.
Rather, she squirmed on my lap. And cried on my lap. And threw fits on my lap. And pooped on my lap. And threw up on my lap. And on my shirt. And in my hair. And of course she wouldn't eat when we were sitting in our seats doing nothing. Nooooo, she had to eat when we had 45 minutes to change planes in Chicago so that mom (me) couldn't get any food. Clever girl, she is.
Meanwhile my husband was at home getting Alone Guy Time and doing all the things he can't do when we're here. Like sleeping all night. Interrupted night sleep. God, how I do miss you, uninterrupted sleep. Not like I'm bitter or anything.
So I'm officially owed several nights of Alone Time now, and I'm planning how to best spend them. So far the top two ideas are going on a spiritual retreat at a monastery by the ocean, and just getting a hotel room on the beach for a weekend. Mama needs Alone Time to recover after that!
And I'm NEVER trying to mix family time with work time again. Ever. Never. Never ever.
Oh, and in positive news, for those following the torture that my boobs have been going through, I'm officially not pumping any longer. Hannah is on formula and that's all there is to it. She'll be starting solids soon, we still have about 150 ounces of breast milk frozen, and other than that she's on Enfamil Gentlease and I've returned the pump to the rental store (though I had some sort of Stockholm Syndrome with it - I hated that damn Medela Symphony. But I couldn't part with it without tears.) Yay for no more pumping!!