Packing for Sri Lanka
When David comes home from this latest trip we're off on an adventure! The two of us have been fantasizing about Sri Lanka for years. The food, the beaches, the colonial architecture, the tea! In my fantasy it has a similar atmosphere of buzz and tranquility to Bali and I spend days lazing on the beach with a G&T and my Kindle. Long haul flights and jet lagged babies weren't a part of my original dream scenario, but the kid's just too cute to leave behind, and besides I can't wait to take him for his first swim in the (hopefully bath-temperature) ocean.
So this week we're engaged in a military style packing operation with the key-words being 'preparedness' and 'economy'. I'm only taking a bikini, 2 dresses and a pair of flip flops to make room for surplus dummies, wet wipes and plastic bibs. Actually I'm finding the prospect of traveling with a baby exciting in the same twisted way I was looking forward to giving birth (not that I actually gave birth so that's one illusion that will never be shattered), but you know how sometimes you just know you'll be good at something? I'm good in airports and on planes. My dad was a pilot and packing light, arriving super-early to score the bulk-head and looking cool by knowing where your headphones plug in are Vans-Colina talents.
'Traveling' and being somewhere new is a different story. My older brother who is a fearless traveller describes me as a "platypus", not because I'm rare and interesting to scientists, but because if you take me out of my natural habitat I get freaky and may die. The thing is I like the idea of traveling more than I actually like being away. I like my stuff, in it's place. And more pertinently, I like my baby stuff in it's place. Often times the difference between a psychotic baby and a really cute quiet one is the placement of a dummy or a secret weapon toy which I've had in my backpack for a week, ready for a shit-fit just like this. So this morning we hit up Amsterdam's 2 dollar shops for crazy toys and I think the whole first trip with a baby thing is going to be fine. Unless Cal hates mosquitoes, really hot weather and curry for breakfast (like me...shhhh). To be continued...
So this week we're engaged in a military style packing operation with the key-words being 'preparedness' and 'economy'. I'm only taking a bikini, 2 dresses and a pair of flip flops to make room for surplus dummies, wet wipes and plastic bibs. Actually I'm finding the prospect of traveling with a baby exciting in the same twisted way I was looking forward to giving birth (not that I actually gave birth so that's one illusion that will never be shattered), but you know how sometimes you just know you'll be good at something? I'm good in airports and on planes. My dad was a pilot and packing light, arriving super-early to score the bulk-head and looking cool by knowing where your headphones plug in are Vans-Colina talents.
'Traveling' and being somewhere new is a different story. My older brother who is a fearless traveller describes me as a "platypus", not because I'm rare and interesting to scientists, but because if you take me out of my natural habitat I get freaky and may die. The thing is I like the idea of traveling more than I actually like being away. I like my stuff, in it's place. And more pertinently, I like my baby stuff in it's place. Often times the difference between a psychotic baby and a really cute quiet one is the placement of a dummy or a secret weapon toy which I've had in my backpack for a week, ready for a shit-fit just like this. So this morning we hit up Amsterdam's 2 dollar shops for crazy toys and I think the whole first trip with a baby thing is going to be fine. Unless Cal hates mosquitoes, really hot weather and curry for breakfast (like me...shhhh). To be continued...
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| Who wouldn't want to sit next to this guy on a 14 hour flight? |
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