It was easier to pack up and move across the country when it was just me. I can't get over how much stuff Bella has. It shouldn't surprise me-- it took me almost an hour to get everything together to leave for church on Sunday, and that was just a few hours and a few blocks. And by the way, how the hell am I supposed to manage my purse, my carry-on, Bella's diaper bag, Bella's carrier, and, you know, Bella all at once? You'd think it would get easier when you add Sam to the equation, an extra set of hands and such, but with Sam comes more stuff to carry. Any concerns I have about making it from the car to the gate are dwarfed, however, by the very real fear of having my life threatened by other passengers when my daughter cries through the entire flight. Speaking of which, it's a six hour flight, and Bella's eating every 2 or 3 hours, what's the etiquette there? Do I hole up in the bathroom? Or do I hope that Sam and a blanket will provide us with enough privacy that the entire first class cabin doesn't end up with a free show?
Uncertainty as to the feasibility of air travel aside, I'm thoroughly looking forward to seeing the ocean again. I'm looking forward to jogging down the beach and laying by the pool and nothing's going to stop me from looking good in last summer's bikini again. More than anything though, I'm looking forward to the campaign itself. Don't get me wrong-- Bella's kept me busy enough that at times I miss how rested I felt after a week of 22 hour long White House days, but I find myself longing for a level of intellectual stimulation that a two-week-old baby simply can't provide. I miss talking to other adults. Miles came by yesterday and I realized that I'm woefully out of touch with the world around me. It's harder to focus on the Post or the Times or even CNN when your days are spent cleaning up spit up. I'd never admit it to him, but Miles could kick my ass with one hand tied behind his back right now.
I need to bone up on California politics this weekend.