Chopped Liver

OK, everybody. I'm back home to my fabulous wireless connection that does not require me to perch on the edge of a specific chair near the window in the living room, facing slightly to the left, in order to post, but I'm also no longer on a tropical island, which is kinda depressing. I realize most of you are checking the old blog repeatedly for the sole purpose of seeing more pictures of Travie, but I think I'm out of new ones at the moment. He didn't change too much in the remaining week I was there, but I'll look through the digital camera again and see what I can find. Your requests (primarily through word of mouth) are not being ignored, so relax. :)

In case anyone is wondering, the rest of my trip was fantastic. I had lots of good sister time with Mols and Brynna, and of course I adored every moment with Travis. Who knew little inert babies could be so interesting? On my last night, Mols and I were sitting on her couch playing Boggle, our favorite game, while Travis slept on the boppy in front of her. His little body suddenly jerked awake, and his eyes opened in surprise for a moment before he drifted back to sleep. Molly wondered out loud what that was all about, and I suggested that maybe he was having one of those in between awake and asleep dreams about slipping on the stairs and falling. Don't those cause all of us to wake in a panic before we hit the ground? The thought of a week-old baby having dreams about tripping on stairs gave us a serious case of the giggles for the rest of the night.

Also, I think the little guy could be slightly confused about his name now. When I first arrived, Molly gave me a tour of the baby's area in their loft bedroom and showed me all of his new clothes. Thoughtful friends and family had handcrafted about a dozen onesies with Travis's name printed clearly on the front of each one.

"These are really cute, but it seems like a little bit of a dangerous gift. What if you decide to change his name at the last minute?" I asked.

"I know," Molly said. "Any thought of that pretty much went out the window when I saw these."

"Yeah," I responded deep in thought. "I mean what if you changed it to something completely different...like Phil?"

"Phil, Megan?" she laughed, giving me a look like I was nutso. "Who names a baby Phil? If we named him Philip, we'd have to call him Philip, at least while he was little. Anyway, we're not naming him Phil. I don't even like that name."

"I'm just saying. If you did that, Phil would always wonder why he was wearing onesies with the name Travis on them when he looked at his baby pictures. It might give him a complex."

"Hmmmmm. I guess we could get a Sharpie to cross out Travis, and write in Phil."

"OK," I said. "That could work."

I kind of forgot about that conversation until a couple of nights after they came home from the hospital, when Molly jokingly referred to the baby as Phil. Not only does the name not fit the boy at all, but it really does seem ridiculously adult for an infant. Therefore, we found it hilarious. We couldn't resist calling the baby Phil from time to time, and I don't think his dad appreciated it much. I'd walk by the little guy in his swing and greet him with a "Hey, Phil." He'd gaze my way with a blank stare. I'd come over to talk to Mols while he was breastfeeding and ask "Are you having a good snack, Phil?" Blank stare. When he wound up and started to cry, Molly and I would look at each other and one of us would say "Uh oh. Phil is upset." As my departure date approached, Molly would tell me that Phil didn't want me to go home. Poor kid. At this rate, I see lots of therapy in his future. Of course, I'm sure with my bad influence safely across the ocean he's gone back to being just Travis/Travie now. But, I couldn't resist text messaging Molly when I left to ask her to give Phil a big kiss for me.

Name confusion aside, the little man is deeply loved by his parents, and they are doing a great job taking care of him and adjusting to parenthood. It was so wonderful to watch them with their son, and I can't wait to see all the changes when they visit in a few months. I love holding the little bobblehead boy in my arms, and I felt such joy when I could sometimes help calm him down or put him to sleep by rocking, patting his bottom, and singing/humming a little tune. Travis seemed particularly fond of a Megan original that went like this: Whatever works, whatever works. What-EVER-works. Whatever works, whatever works. What-EVER-works.

It's repetitive but effective. Hey man, whatever works.