…Aren’t for babies. At least the return leg. Robbie and I went up to Vermont with two friends this morning and met up with two other friends for lunch at Simon Pearce. He did so well on the way up there. He kept himself entertained during the hour wait for our table. He was even pleasant during lunch, once he got his grilled cheese. I cruelly woke him up after driving from lunch to Woodstock to shop and explore. And later forced him to play while we enjoyed dessert before driving home.
The poor baby was too tired to sleep. He cried nearly half the way home, so uncomfortable in his car seat. He didn’t want milk or anything to do with my friend Jane, who tried to soothe him. He fell asleep after about twenty minutes of crying, and we enjoyed the quiet snoring for almost an hour. All of a sudden, he woke with a start, panicked. There was nowhere to pull over in mid-New Hampshire, so we had to keep going.
I finally managed to pull over. There were no diaper problems. Just a sweaty baby who could not be consoled. He screamed for at least another thirty minutes, sometimes going up an octave in desperation. Jane finally got him calmed, something I am not good at when Robbie gets panicked. And it calmed me down, too. I’m still noticing that my jaw is tense from clenching it during all of the screaming.
It was a wonderful feeling, though, to pull in and get a sleeping boy out of the car. There’s nothing quite like they way they cling to you in their sleepy state. Robbie smiled all the way upstairs and drowsily laughed as I changed his diaper. I love those moments. Just not the desperate screams that get him there.