I took a huge step on Sunday and left Baby Evan in the nursery at church for the first time ever. It took me 5 minutes just to walk out of the room and 5 more of peering through the door to make sure he was ok before I made it back to the service, but I did it. And he was fine. He was actually better than fine, he was totally happy to be playing with a whole room full of new toys and other kids to yell at instead of sitting in my lap in the service being told to shhhhhh constantly.

Apparently my subconcious was much more upset about the decision than I was because Sunday night I had the absolute worst baby dream EVAR. I dreamed – in a horribly realistic fashion – that when E and I went to visit my parents for Christmas, we left Baby Evan in his crib. In the dream, we discussed bringing him with us but decided he was going to be too much of a hassle to travel with and we’d just get someone to watch him for the 7 days we’d be gone. But we both forgot to actually get someone to watch him and made it all the way to Virginia before we remembered. The next four hours of my nightmare was spent trying to find the phone number for my next door neighbor, calling people we knew who might be able to come check on Baby Evan, fighting with the bizare woman who answered the phone when I called the baby store that ended when she called Child Protective Services and told me I’d never see my baby again.

You know how in dreams, sometimes you’re conscious of what you should be doing but your dream self refuses to comply? Clearly, if I really did forget my baby, I would turn around and drive right back to get him (although after that nightmare the chances of forgetting the baby are even more minuscule then they were before – I’m never again leaving a ROOM without him, let alone the state). But in my dream E and I had a very serious discussion about whether or not Baby Evan would starve to death if we just stayed 5 days instead of 7. And we wondered if $500 was enough to pay the neighbor’s teenage daughter to come over and watch him for a while.  I think at one point E mentioned there was water in the dog’s bowl (which the dog didn’t need because we REMEMBERED TO BRING THE DOG) and the baby would figure it out.

I woke up even more exhausted than I was when I went to bed and feeling like the worst mother in the world. I spent all day Monday making up my horrible (imaginary) parenting to Baby Evan with lots of hugs and patience and taking him everywhere I went. I was rewarded with no baby-abandoning dreams Monday night. Clearly, my subconscious and I have some issues to work out before I try to leave the baby in the nursery again.

I guess visiting my parents really gave Baby Evan a sense of where he comes from, because he decided to take part in the long-standing Glidden family tradition of being TERRIBLY HORRIBLY ILL on Thanksgiving. Growing up, someone in our house (usually my sister) was ALWAYS sick on holidays. Thanksgiving? Pneumonia! Christmas? Flu! Easter? Strep throat! Arbor Day? The Plague! National Waffle Appreciation Day? Ebola!

On Wednesday when we got to Ohio we thought the baby was just fussy because of the long car trip. But by 2 am when he refused to be put down even for a second we decided it was more than just fussing. I thought it might be his two top teeth coming through, but when his fever kept getting higher and his wailing kept getting louder, we suspected he might really be sick. E went out on Thanksgiving (thanks People Who Work At The Grocery Store On Holidays!) and bought a thermometer and some infant Tylenol so we could do something – ANYTHING – to help poor Baby Evan feel better. It didn’t work. He spent all day on Thursday alternating between crying himself to exhaustion and passing out from exhaustion only to wake up crying. My entire extended in-law family thinks Baby Evan is a loud, angry, snot-producing machine and feels really really bad for me as the mother of such a difficult baby. For a while I tried to insist he normally wasn’t like this (Read my blog! He’s really good!) but after a while I was too tired to protest and by bedtime I had completely forgotten he had ever been a happy, easy-going child.

If we had been at home during Baby Evan’s First Illness (a milestone I will definitely NOT be putting in the baby book) we would have handled it. I would have been tired, the baby still would have been sick, and it wouldn’t have been over any faster, but it would have been SO. MUCH. EASIER. When you’re a houseguest in a very crowded house, taking care of a sick baby is misery. Thank God E was just as concerned about the baby as I was, because if he hadn’t done his share of nighttime rocking and changing and letting Baby Evan sleep on his chest I may have ended up stabbing a meat thermometer through my hand just for a couple of quiet hours in the hospital.

In the middles of Thursday night his temperature reached 104.5 and I spent two hours waiting for my pediatrician to call me back and insist I take my deathly ill baby to the ER. Instead, a very calm grandmother-type nurse told me a high temp was normal in an 8 month old, he was just fighting off a virus and “he must be your first”. I let her calm me down and her suggestions helped Baby Evan’s temp come down and by Friday morning he started to act more like his normal self.

Now we’re home and he’s so happy to be back in his own bed he may just sleep forever. Well, not FOREVER (And he’s definitely still breathing – I checked. About two dozen times.) but certainly long enough for me to catch up on some of my missing sleep and get started on the pre-holiday decorating clean-a-thon. I’m sure once he realizes there are ornaments to break, ribbon to eat and glitter to roll in he’ll be too excited to ever sleep again.

I am also thankful for…

Stores that are open on Thanksgiving morning.

Infant Tylenol.

Spongebob Squarepants rectal thermometers.

The 24-hour nursing care line who answers my pediatrician’s pages at 1:30 am.

Baby Evan no longer having a temperature of 104.5 degrees and appearing to be on the road to recovery from his cold/flu/sickness/whatever.

I am especially thankful we’re going home tomorrow for a month of NO TRAVELING. Lots of stories, pictures and updates to come…as soon as I’ve made sure my couch hasn’t lost my permanent butt imprint.

Things I learned this weekend:
1. Driving south on I-95 through NYC on a Friday afternoon is a VERY BAD IDEA. Very, very, very, very bad. Unless you have a flying car and an invisibility cape always take 287 over the Tappan Zee Bridge.
2. Although I had heard it was possible to nurse a baby strapped in his car seat in a moving vehicle, now I know for a fact it can be done.
3. Breastfeeding a baby in a moving car is a one way ticket to Sore Nipple Town, by way of the Baby Teeth Express. I’m currently the mayor but don’t plan to run for reelection.
4. If you buy the baby a fancy new toy to entertain him during a long car ride, make sure it has an OFF SWITCH.
5. Tying a baby to a chair is a fast and easy way to enjoy a family meal without a squirming child in your lap. It works best if you have an actual baby-tying device but I suppose duct tape would work in a pinch.
6. When packing to visit your family, be sure to leave extra room in the car for the toys they are sure to have bought the baby AND the stuff they saved from your own childhood.
7. Going back to the house you grew up in feels really weird when you have a husband and a baby.
8. When you have both a grandma and a great-grandma ready to babysit, TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE OPPORTUNITY to go do something without the baby. Preferably something you couldn’t do with a baby, like go to a movie, a bar, or the NRA range.
9. Sometimes the best way to blow off some travel frustration is to shoot stuff. It’s also good to practice your aim to prepare for the zombie apocalypse.
10. Nine hours of heavy traffic and only 3 hours of sleep is worth it to give Great-Grandma a chance to see her only great-grandson on her 80th birthday.

Great Grandma Gayle & Baby Evan

I think this car seat was an excellent purchase

As I may have mentioned a bazillion or so times, we went down to Pennsylvania to visit my best friend Erin and her husband Mitch for their son Reid’s christening last weekend. And what goes better with infants and church than a beer factory tour? Yuengling is E’s OMG SO GOOD THE BEST EVER FAVORITE beer and they don’t sell it in Connecticut. Sadly, due to family/baby/timing issues we missed the free sample at the end of the tour. E swears he’s been scarred for life and may never recover, but I think the 3 4 5 many bottles he drank Saturday night definitely helped.

They still make beer here during the week but since it was the weekend we didn't get to see any actual production.

The gift shop was oddly lacking in any Yuengling brand baby items.

This is definitely what we're doing to our tree this year.

Some father-son bonding in the bottling building.

The stained glass window cuts down on the sun's reflection off the giant shiny tanks. And is also very pretty.

Erin and her very cooperative Baby Reid, who slept through the whole tour. The blur in the background is Mitch.

My favorite part of the tour: During prohibition, the feds came and built up a brick wall to close off the beer caves. Luckily, Yuengling was still allowed to make a limited amount of beer which was available by doctor's prescription. For who you may ask? Pregnant women and nursing mothers. BREASTFEEDING FTW!

Doesn't E look excited to have TWO babies? At lease Reid and Evan are adorable.

My attempt to pose Baby Evan in his adorable church sweater. This whole mobility thing is severely damaging my picture taking ability.

Ok, good enough.