We didn’t bring a lot of baby gear with us to NYC. With our trusty Onya Baby Carrier we managed just fine. No stroller, no high chair, no pack and play. But still, he required his own bag of clothes. And we needed extra clothes for ourselves. Because babies are not leak proof. So when we return home we have more bags to bring in the house than usual. I carry the baby in. She gets all the bags. His nap in the car means that he is wide-awake. We are less so. Hours later his eyes shut, he claps his hands a little in his sleep, because it’s his new thing and even sleep doesn’t stop it. I ask Tracy if she is going to head to bed too but she is too excited to download the pictures from our trip. I am more concerned with sleep than the city that never sleeps.
The next day I feel off. Funky. Mac is bored. New York City is full of bright lights and people to watch. It has fast and loud subway cars that propel you from one magical destination to the next. And in New York he got bites of pizza and bagels and cannoli. The inside of my living room pales in comparison.
I’m impatient with his boredom. We head to the park to give him space to play. We have a lot of that in Ottawa. Space. Green space. Grass space. He can crawl and climb to his heart’s content. But his heart was content being carried around New York. His head on my shoulder. People to stare at everywhere he turned.
|Mac in Ottawa|
|Mac in New York City|
I can’t shake my mood. I wonder if it is the post-vacation slump. But it doesn’t feel that way. I feel homesick. Which makes no sense. I’m home. Have been for a full day now. But still, I’m restless, irritable, jonesing for a fix.
Day turns to night and the baby falls asleep without a lot of fuss. I thank God for small favors. I snuggle into the couch next to my wife. A cup of warm tea in my hand and a bowl of popcorn on her lap. She presses play on the movie and I rest my head on her chest. The beat of her heart competes with the surround sound and I manage to split my hearing so that one ear can listen to the movie and the other to her heart. Her arm stretches around my shoulder and I breathe a sigh of relief. I am home.
New York City has so much to offer. It has monkeys at the zoo and the best sandwich I’ve ever had. It has streets that mock the moon by appearing to be day in the middle of the night as bright flashing lights illuminate the pavement. It has artists on street corners and yellow cabs that decorate the landscape as they whiz by in packs. It has buildings so large that as you look up you suddenly feel both inspired to be big and ultimately insignificant. It has electricity that mixes with oxygen and carbon dioxide to produce some strange kind of air that inspires artists to create and writers to write. It has Mac's dad and his wonderful friends.
But it doesn’t have this. This still. This warmth. This room with the shades drawn so that the rest of the world disappears. This home I have built in my wife’s arms. Just me and her. No masses of people. No boastful bright lights. Just the humble glow of the TV as it plays the latest Hollywood hit.
Our bodies shift and bend. Finding that perfect nook. Legs criss-cross and hands are held. Like two pieces of Lego designed to fit together we sink into one another. And I realize that I was homesick. Not for my city or my house. But for my wife’s arms. And I am home.
Our continued thanks to DealAngel.com for sponsoring this trip. DealAngel takes the guess work out of searching for hotel deals saving you time, money, and sanity. Check out my review HERE.