Missing Luggage: The Five Lows of Flying Without Belle

As I type these words, I’m in the air somewhere over West Virginia. The sky outside the small, rectangular window to my right is blue and white. I just slowly savored a couple packets of complimentary graham crackers (thanks, JetBlue) while listening to my favorite new artist, Vance Joy.

I am, for the most part, pretty relaxed.

Exactly three months ago, I was in the air somewhere over West Virginia. I don’t remember what color the sky was. I have no idea what I ate. I wasn’t wearing noise-cancelling headphones or typing quietly on my laptop. Instead, I was handing out one Gerber puff at a time, trying to occupy Belle with yet another board book, and hoping that the stroller would still somehow be in one piece when we landed in Boston.

Relaxed? Not so much.

One of the many joys (and struggles) of having a little one is flying with a little one. In Annabelle’s first 18 months of life, she’s been on a few journeys that required airplanes. And as any parent will tell you, it’s challenging. Like maybe a 7 or 8 out of 10 on the difficulty scale. Packing is harder. Getting through security is harder. The flight is harder. Then, you have to worry about time zones and sleeping …

But as I sit here without much stress, I’m surprised to find myself genuinely missing some things about flying with Belle. More specifically, I miss five things:

1. People are much nicer when you fly with a baby. Everyone smiles, no one counts your bags, and stewardesses check in on you all the time. The world knows you’re gritting your teeth and counting the minutes until landing. 
2. Early boarding. Airplanes are crowded and never have enough room. The anxiety that comes with standing around a gate with a piece of carry-on luggage that should fit in the overhead compartment is never fun. Is that guy in Group 3? Is he already getting on? Seriously? With a baby, the red carpet of boarding rolls out. 
3. Bridget. No Belle in the air has, so far, meant no Bridget in the air. And I like hanging out with my wife. She’s pretty damn cool. 
4. Belle. This one is kind of obvious. I thought it would get easier as she started to get older, but it’s actually getting worse. Within the first 10 minutes of this morning’s flight, I was pulling out my phone to watch some recent videos of new words, big smiles, and hilarious dining moments. I won’t get a “Dadda!!!!!” hug today and that stinks. 
5. The accomplished feeling when you land. I’ll touch down in a couple hours, slowly collect my carry-on bags, and shuffle out toward the vast, fast-food-filled airport in Dallas. From there, I’ll hop in a cab and head to the hotel. Big deal. With the little one in tow, Bridget and I would share a high-five (and she hates high-fives), let out a couple big sighs, give each other that “We made it” look, and get ready to explore a new place with Belle. 

Now the task of trying to remember these five things the next time I’m handing small bits of food to a screaming toddler before the plane is even in the air? That’s probably a 9 on that difficulty scale. Maybe even 9.5.

What's the value of a baby book?

Hair is the only thing that comes to mind. And maybe teeth, too, but that's a little strange. I mean, who saves teeth?

Otherwise, really, what's the value of a baby book anymore?

My mother, if she's reading this, is rolling her eyes. You don't know what you're talking about, Michael. Baby books are an essential part of childhood. The memories. Oh, the memories! 

Well, Ma, the thing is, books just aren't books anymore. Books are e-books. Books are online courses. Books are images and videos and animations. Physical books are, in a way, and it's hard for me to say this, dead.

And baby books are in that category of physical books.

I've looked through my baby book a few times. It's fun to skim the pages and take an embarrassing trip down memory lane. Mine, probably like yours, is faded, worn, and torn. That isn't because my mother treated it poorly; in fact, she treasured/treasures it. But it's a book and books fall apart. It's filled with images, footprints, and, probably, hair. It's stuffed with memories of foods I liked, illnesses I overcame, and first steps I took. I'm sure there's quite a bit about the potty in there, too. And don't get me wrong -- these are all wonderful things.

But we don't have one for Annabelle. And, frankly, I don't see it happening.

Instead, we have this blog, Annabelle's email account, hundreds of digital photos (many of which you might have seen on Facebook and Instagram), and dozens of videos. Again, I'm channeling my mother: This is all technology! What will you actually hold in your hand? Oh, you're missing out! (She says "Oh" a lot as she leads into emotional sentences. Maybe your mom does, too?)

I don't think we're missing out, though. (And I don't think Annabelle is either.) I think we're being practical and making good use of technological advances. The tattered images of me in a snowsuit are are now sharp, high-def images of Annabelle sitting in her highchair. A story about my first steps is now a 15-second video I can watch every day. A list of my first words is now an audio file on my iPhone.

Sound cold? Sound sterile? To me, it sounds like progress. It sounds like the inevitable march of time. It sounds like better, more vibrant memories.

Besides, what would we do with a bunch of old teeth?

A Chilly Housewarming

For most of Massachusetts, January 31 was just another cold, snowy Saturday on this frigid marathon called winter. A few inches of snow in the morning. Single-digit temperatures. Reports of a potential blizzard in the days ahead. If you live anywhere in the state, you've read sentences like these thousands of time by now.

For me and Bridget, January 31 was a day we’ll remember forever. We – wait for it – moved into our first home!

Hooray! We’re officially adults now! We realized our time in the city had to come to an end, so we packed up our things, asked friends for help, and moved 12 miles north to the suburb of Reading.

Like any big day you circle on a calendar, Bridget and I talked about January 31 endlessly. Ever since we officially bought the home in October, we looked ahead to the end of January with excitement and anxiety. Won’t it be great to have more room for our stuff? Should we hire movers or ask friends and family to help? (Aside: Our friends and family are wonderful people.) What will the new neighbors be like? What if we miss the city? Does this mean we’re not cool?

And, to be clear, it’s been wonderful. There are so many great things about owning your own little piece of the Earth, many of which we’ll document in upcoming posts. But, man, did we pick the worst month of all-time to move into a new house.

In no particular order, here are the five activities that have taken up the bulk of our weekends so far:

1. Shoveling 
2. Shoveling snow off the roof 
3. Worrying about ice dams 
4. Salting the walkway and the driveway 
5. Shoveling 

Sure, we’ve done fun stuff, too. We bought a new car and some furniture, ordered our first batch of oil (actually not that much fun), and enjoyed the many pleasures of our local Market Basket. But the winter has been a cold, continuous punch in the gut.

Dramatic? An exaggeration? It has snowed every weekend and, frankly, nearly even day since we’ve moved to Reading. I’ve yet to see a blade of grass or a dry patch of pavement. Before I climbed on the roof the first time, I went to Zillow so I could see some pictures and make sure the angles weren’t too steep. And the list goes on.

Last weekend, on the one “warm” day we’ve had, a young mother walked by and we had this quick exchange:

Young Mom: “Oh, are you the new owners?”
Me (as I shoveled the walk for the 87th time): “Yup, I’m Mike. Bridget and little Annabelle are inside.”
Young Mom: “Oh, how nice. Boy, what a horrible time to move. I feel so bad every time I walk by. It’s a really nice neighborhood. You’ll see … someday.”

Everyone has struggled with the weather this winter. Commutes have been horrible. Backs and shoulders are injured. Roofs are sagging. We’re no different. But on that first 60-degree April day, when we fire up the grill and watch Belle and Oscar run around in the backyard, it’ll be hard to find a happier couple in Massachusetts.

Dear Annabelle ...

There's a scene in that Google "Dear Sophie" commercial that chokes me up every time I watch it. The ad, if you didn't click the link or haven't seen it, features a Dad writing emails to his newborn/infant/toddler daughter. It's incredibly well done -- and inspired me to write Annabelle emails in her first 16 months.

Anyway, there's this scene. In the middle of all these happy memories, there's one in the hospital. The phrases "really bad fever" and "we felt so helpless" pop up on the screen. And every time I see that, I think: Man, that must be awful. I wonder if we'll ever have that experience with Belle.

And then last Sunday happened.

It actually all started Friday. The folks at daycare called and told us Annabelle, who had been nursing a cough for a few days, had pink eye and needed to come home. Bridget picked her up from daycare, I grabbed the medicine, and we hunkered down for a quiet night with our little goopy-eyed monster.  Belle had a slight fever, too, but we assumed it was just part of the pink eye. We called the doctor and she wasn't concerned. And by Saturday, the eye looked a lot better and Annabelle's slight fever had gone down.

Life, we thought, was back to normal.

But then Belle's fever got worse as Saturday afternoon became Saturday night. It climbed to 102 and then 103. We gave her some Tylenol, sent her to bed, and crossed our fingers that the fever would relent in the morning. It didn't. In fact, it got worse. Belle was lethargic, breathing heavy, and seemingly on fire. The doctor's office told us not to worry until the fever reached 105, but at 104, we called in a bit of a panic. Ten minutes later, we were racing through Cambridge to get to urgent care.

Immediately, the doctor gave Belle a breathing treatment and tried to calm our fears. Her pulse was fast and her oxygen was low. Now we were really getting nervous. The doctor tried to improve the situation for about 20 minutes and then said, "I think she needs to go to the hospital. And she'll need to go in an ambulance."

My mind raced: My daughter? An ambulance? No, she's fine. She's a very healthy girl. There must be some mistake. 

I ran down to the car to get Belle's car seat. We put her in and then placed her on a stretcher so she'd be safe in the ambulance. And then I caught a glimpse of her face -- her scared, confused, perfect face. It was heart-breaking, soul-crushing, and nerve-racking. We were helpless. Bridget went in the back of the ambulance with Belle while I drove home to get an overnight bag and take care of Oscar.

Now, I'm not a big crier. I probably break down once every year or two. But, man, did I cry. I cried after I saw Belle's face on the stretcher. I cried when I drove by the ambulance. I cried when I got the text from Bridget saying they were in Room 33 in the ER and Belle "seemed to be doing okay."

And so Sunday night, tired, scared, and worried, we were admitted to Children's Hospital. While most of New England watched 52" screens and cheered for the Patriots, we watched a 9" screen and cheered for Belle's oxygen levels. Slowly, she started to get better. Her oxygen levels went up and her pulse slowed.

The diagnosis was pneumonia, so we knew we were canceling our plans for a few days. But we didn't care. We stayed at the hospital Sunday night and Monday night, and then came home with a relatively healthy girl on Tuesday afternoon. Belle will have a cough for a while, but our first real health scare was behind us.

Before we left on Tuesday, I opened up an email and wrote:

Dear Annabelle ...

Should I Have Posted This Photo?

Should I have posted this photo?

I mean, it's not the most flattering image of my adorable daughter, Annabelle. She isn't smiling or being particularly cute. The lighting is pretty bad. And she's stuffing her face pretty aggressively with what looks to be pizza.

Will this photo come back to haunt her someday? Will some mean-spirited 12-year-old girl find it online in 11 years and make fun of my daughter? Tell her she chews like a cow? Call her names? 

I sure hope not. But is that a reason not to post a photo? Or a video? Or a story?

A 2010 study four that 92% of US 2-year-olds have an online record. And 2010, at least in technology years, is approximately 250 years ago. A baby's digital footprint has replaced the ink footprint hospitals used to give you as a memento of the miracle. Before babies are born, they show up on Facebook news feeds as fetuses and have their very own email addresses.   

Is creating this digital persona a good idea? Or a horrible one? 

If you're a parent (or you plan to be one someday), you probably wrestle with this question. We all share images and updates and stories because we want to entertain our friends and families, create memories, and, well, market ourselves. (It's sad, but we all have a brand.) But is anything over the line? Is a Twitter account for a 1-year-old an accident waiting to happen? What about a naked photo in the tub on Instagram? What happens if your toddler ends up on a Toys R Us marketing list? 

After some digging, I found a really good New York Times article on the topic. It doesn't necessarily have answers, but it raises lots of important scenarios and questions. And it has this closing line, which really made me pause: If anything, a child today who grow up and discovers he has no photos on Facebook or Instagram might think of himself as an unloved anomaly. In an age of obsessive digital detailing, if a child grows up unrecorded, what is his identity at all?  

This last question seems like it's a little over the line. No identity at all? Still, unless you've blocked me on Facebook, you probably know that Annabelle has a pretty strong online presence. Bridget and I have posted approximately 8,000 photos (most cuter than the one above), written about 100 blog posts, and shared dozens of videos. And Annabelle has an email address that I write to regularly. 

Why? Well, partly because of the reasons above: We want to share, entertain, and strengthen our family brand. (Family brand? Gross, I know. But let's call a spade, a spade.) But the main reason we do all this online sharing is to create memories for ourselves and for Annabelle. Already, we look at old videos and laugh. We look at old images and wonder how things have gone so fast. And, more than anything, we look forward to the day we can show Belle memories from her childhood.

So, should I have posted this photo? I think so. What about you? 

A Tale of Two (Sets of) Teeth

This week was the worst of times and, well, the worst of times. 

Look at that smile.

Have you ever seen such an adorable mini vampire before? Those two little terrifying fangs hanging down? Marshmallows everywhere are hiding in fear.

As adorable as those teeth may be, any parent will tell you that their formation has been anything but cute. Those two guys in the front -- and their five or six friends -- have created late night tears, public tantrums, random fevers, and hours and hours of whimpering.

Belle was a late bloomer in the teeth department. She didn't sprout chomper No. 1 until she was 15 months old, which according to the all-knowing Internet is about eight months late.

Apparently, her Dad was a late bloomer, too:

Look at that smile. (I think that's a smile?)

Have you ever seen such a terrifying face? Those hairy, swollen cheeks? Women everywhere are hiding in fear.

At the ripe old age of 34, I had my wisdom teeth out this week. Most people have them removed between the ages of 18 - 24. I didn't necessarily drag my feet; I just wasn't really champing at the bit to get it done. My dentist mentioned it a couple appointments ago and, finally, he said it was about time.

Like most everyone, I'd heard my share of horror stories and "it wasn't so bad" stories. People screaming into pillows from the pain. People back at work the next day. People losing 10 pounds because they couldn't eat. People who ran a 5K the following day. My experience was somewhere in between. It hurt quite a bit and I still can't fully open my mouth, but I got to eat a bunch of delicious ice cream and I'm here to type the tale.

Still, what will forever be known as "teeth week" in the Briddon house has been pretty exhausting. The result? Lots and lots of rest for me and Belle. Or, in the words of Charles Dickens, "... it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

5 Reasons Why I Really Like Disney World ... Now

When Annabelle was born last September, three thoughts raced through my mind:

• "This is one of the best moments of my life."
• "I wonder when I'll sleep for eight straight hours again."
• "This means I have to go to Disney World."

Oddly, the third item created more anxiety than the second. 

I've never liked Disney World. It's too crowded and too happy. Plus, I went when I was 8 and cried most of the trip because I don't like rides. (I was a super fun kid.) So the crippling thought of going again that crept into my mind that beautiful September morning filled me with terror. If you told me our family would be there 15 months later, I would have laughed. Then cried. For at least 15 minutes. But sure enough, this December, last week in fact, Bridget, Belle, and I walked through the gates of the Magic Kingdom. 

I just explained how much I dislike all of this Disney hoopla, so why did we go? Well, most importantly, we thought Belle would like it. Will she remember it? Probably not. But we knew she'd be captivated by the sights and sounds. Secondly, my organization hosts a huge conference down in Orlando every December and we realized it was an opportunity for an affordable vacation. My airfare was covered and we had a discounted hotel room at a nice resort. Why not, right?  

And here's the thing, the turn in my story: I really, really liked Disney. Here are the five reasons why:

1. Belle was mesmerized. Obviously, this is reason No. 1. We spent almost seven hours at the Magic Kingdom and Belle's eyes were pretty darn wide the whole time. (In full disclosure, she slept for an hour.) We went on seven or eight rides (and I survived), participated in plays, saw lots of characters, and some delicious food. This video of a determined Belle on the carousel is pretty adorable.

2. Disney is a good value. I was totally surprised by this. With parking, it cost $227 for two adults and one (free) toddler. That's a nice chunk of change, but we had almost seven hours of memorable fun! And if you get a multi-day pass, the price per day is much cheaper. Yes, it's crowded and yes, you have to wait in lines sometimes, but there's so much to do. One minute, you're on a boat ride and the next you're eating a turkey leg. For comparison, I went to a Patriots game a couple months ago and with (good) seats, parking, food, and booze, my ticket was $250. Both were day-long adventures. Both were fun. But Disney always seems to get unfairly labeled as a ridiculously expensive adventure. 

3. Disney is a well-oiled entertainment machine. Disney knows what it's doing. Everywhere you look, there are great processes in action. The great communication on the tram. The clearly marked wait times for the rides. The spotless streets. The Fast Pass and the intuitive app. The friendly, helpful staff/cast members. Just seeing the dynamic operation in action was worth the price of admission. Nerd rant over.

4. People freakin' love Disney. I'll never wear a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt or a Donald Duck hat. Adults that go nuts over this Disney stuff frankly scare the bejeezus out of me. But it's fun to watch people be incredibly happy. It's like going to a sporting event or a church just to see what it's all about. It's being a part of things that are bigger than yourself. 

5. The feeling you get when you leave Disney. Your legs are tired, your eyes are tired, and your brain is tired. But when you look down at your exhausted kid(s), you know you just made them really, really happy. And I'm not sure there's a better feeling in the world. 

In conclusion, here are eight words I never expected to write: I can't wait to go back to Disney.