My sister Margie is here for a visit from Houston, Texas. She is a brave woman, bringing a 7 month old nephew John over 5000miles by herself. She has a great writeup about travelling with an infant here. I picked them up Thursday morning at Heathrow – and they both looked great.
We just laid low on Thursday, and John went to bed before 7pm, but then up to play at 8. Margie hadn’t slept on the plane and was toasted, so Steve and I tag teamed the rest of the night. I grabbed a catnap while the boys played.
I got the fun bit. John hit the preverbial wall at 9pm and just laid in my arms crying, poor thing. He was just exhausted, but confused about why it was dark at what felt like 4pm to him, and why he was not in his familiar surroundings. He cried until he finally gave in and fell asleep close to 10pm. This was followed by a full night’s sleep – he didn’t even wake up for a bottle – so we all consider it a success. (45 minutes of crying after a 10 hour flight and 5 hours time difference is pretty stinkin good)
* Please note: Uncle Steve was not letting him play in the garbage bin. Margie told us not to bother buying or borrowing any toys – that household items were fine – so I’ve been laying aside water bottles, yogurt cups and sturdy little boxes and threw those in a basket along with some kitchen spatulas. These, along with the radiators and chairs have kept him entertained for 3 days now.