Thwarted by a volcano, my intrepid mother made her way to Daddyland just a week later, braving the suddenly clear skies over Iceland to arrive in a cold Swedish spring.
And also to find out that the baby had been throwing up all night. He stayed sick for days. He cried a lot. He did not want to be held. Then E got sick too.
But we had fun anyway.
It is wonderful to have grandma here. NK stays home and relaxes. And the quiet spell of parental leave in a foreign city is broken. We went to far away parks and ate hot dogs and popsicles. We went into Stockholm and all sat in the German church while NK “read” a really heavy book she lugged along. We all rode this really cool tire swing/slide that many Swedish parks have. Baby B cried while I got on the tire and then laughed with glee during the ride with me. Then he cried while I got on the tire. Then laughed. Then cried. Then laughed.
That is my son.
The visit does not make me yearn for America, only because America is so spread out, or at least our life and family are. And I cannot wish that we had three generations all living in the same small town because that is such an impossibility – if you knew my family.
But it does make me look forward to one day living on a beach in California a short-enough drive from my parents and my sister and whatever friends are still around the Bay Area.
For now, though, Daddyland is way cool. And Baby B thinks so too. After a rough morning, we took his sister to preschool, came home and he sat on the couch and wanted me to tickle the back of his neck with my beard.
And we laughed.
And he slept.
And now I am going to sleep too.