Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Back to Work

I've been worried for weeks about today the day I commute 3 hours (each way) from Sac to Santa Cruz with a baby in the back seat who has no predictable eating schedule yet. Lit 101/Marxism is calling -- 8AM lecture.
Things seemed like they were going to work out with less belly-aching than I thought. Dave got the (Cesar Chavez) day off and could accompany us there and back, taking a lot of pressure off our first day back in school.
I prepared all day yesterday to get everything set up for our early morning departure. The diaper bag and school bag were packed, the stroller was stowed, the bottles were made in advance and the cooler bag was ready. All I had to do was wake up, feed the baby, and be on my way. And we were making excellent time, I was to be there with a good half hour to breathe.
Except half-way there I had a vision that did not include seeing myself putting the bottles in the car. I remember throwing the diaper bag and my school bag in the backseat, next to the camera which I thought I should bring. But the bag of bottles, were they there? Nope.
So for the last hour of the journey, Dave and I worried: where were we going to buy formula, and bottles, and how were we going to sterilize them? And would hungry Desmond give us the time to figure all this out? We were straight panicking our merry way over highway 17, and what should have been a pleasant early morning drive down memory lane was nailbiting nightmare.
With a happy ending. Dave called his old Paper Vision bosses who kindly opened their doors to our screaming baby and let bottles be sterilized and formula mixed as I strolled into a packed auditorium pretending that motherhood is really a cinch.
Thankfully, my sister-in-law offered to care for poor Desmond Tuesdays and Thursdays so he'll never have to suffer that drive again.

2 comments:

Unknown said...

But what about your? Are you going to have to suffer through the 6 hour commute? What would Marx say about all this? (Nothing, actually)

Becky said...

Whew, there are so many things that I want to chat about with you arising from this post! I'll leave it at, I've been there. And isn't it a weird feeling of completely split identity?

Also, it gets better. Or the two halves of you merge. Or something. But eventually you'll stride into the lecture hall, and it *will* be a cinch.