My son, who is almost but not quite two, has been on a plane seven times in his short life. The first time was a trip to Calgary when he was three months old. He slept through the entire flight, which I remember being somewhere between five to seven hours. He breastfed intermittently while I held his little hand and he snoozed happily away. The second time, we had gone to Halifax to house shop. He slept for some of both flights, also peeking his head over the seats to stare at a little kid behind him. He was about fourteen months old. This last flight, there was very little sleeping and a steady stream of babble. Ender wrestled both me and his dad, frantically pointing out the window at the planes, trying to mash the flight attendant call button, giggling at the stream of air that he opened in the ceiling. The tiny televisions behind the seats were of no help, as he doesn't understand tv is for staring at. All in all, travelling with a toddler is oddly energizing. It makes you feel like you can take on the world, and you certainly don't need a book. It helps that Ender clearly enjoyed the sensory experience of flight this time, as he hooted during takeoff and buzzed during landing. I kissed his rosy little cheeks as we set our course back to Nova Scotia, home, and our regular everyday lives.
The trip was a refreshing change of highs and lows. We laughed and cried, as is appropriate for visits with family members and long held friends. We had a chance to head out to the city on several occasions, though we spent the majority of our time in Etobicoke with Mikes parents. Ender basked in the attention of his grandparents and multitudinous loving aunties and uncles, blood related and otherwise. I feel very grateful to be so loved. Probably I dont deserve it.
I had a chance to go fabric shopping while we were in toronto as well, which was great. The fabric selection in halifax is just dismal, so I did the best I could, and I think I made some good selections. No point in buying any old polyester; I bought unbleached linen, checked silk duppioni, heavily embroidered cotton and a stiff black silk organza.
We watched, amazed, as Enders language made leaps and bounds during our trip. Words and names all came easily to him and a constant smirk of self satisfaction was on his face. "bay-bee" he said, pointing at himself, "bay-bee done down" his way of saying he was both finished and ready to get going. Along with self expression comes a belief that all reactions should be immediate, and with this he is an unforgiving taskmaster. All of us must learn patience in this thing.
I shall wrap up here, for now. Very tired and looking at a full day of catchup tomorrow, as I did not keep up on my homework as I should have on this week off. Till next time...