Last week Henry and I headed to Kentucky to spend some quality time with my family. My mom spent two weeks with us after Henry was born, but my dad and grandparents only got to see him at the wedding, and that just wasn’t enough time. He won’t be as wonderfully squishy by the time I make it home for Christmas, and I just couldn’t handle the idea that some of my nearest and dearest would miss out on these perfect newborn snuggles.

So! We said goodbye to James and Henry and I headed west for a week.

I imagine that flying with a 7 week old is probably way easier than flying with a baby any older. They are still in the “potted plant stage,” to quote a lady from my church, where they may scream – but they can’t move. Henry was truly awesome during both flights, which was a miracle, considering our flight was delayed for 6 HOURS on the way there. Dealing with a baby by myself in an airport for an extra 6 hours was not exactly something that I was planning to do, but we survived. And at the other end of survival, was Kentucky — the best place there is.

I mean really, so beautiful. I’m sure that Henry was way more touched by his mother’s homeland than he let on. In fact, it is probably what he was considering during an especially pensive tummy time session one morning.

Lest you think that Henry was the only one working out to strengthen his muscles, I celebrated extra hands on deck by getting in some runs – my first since 34 weeks pregnant. Unless you count the desperate jog I went on to try to induce labor at 38 weeks. I think that every person in Lincoln Park held their breath as I jiggled my pregnant self around in laps, nobly trying to move things along.

Henry spent most of the week in the arms of his adoring public, specifically my dad and grandmother. He slept almost exclusively in someone’s arms all week… which made nighttime really fun when mean old mom made him go to sleep in the Rock n’Play.

But even if we undid some of the awesome sleep habits that we have been cultivating, it was totally worth it. Henry isn’t going to get to know my beloved grandparents like I do, but I hope that someday I can tell him about the hours he spent in his great grandmother’s arms. I want to tell him how she would just stroke his tiny hands over and over, marveling at their perfection. At how she said that she had never gotten as much time to just study a baby. At how she got out of the pool early just to gaze at him in the shade. This visit was just part of cultivating the circle of love that will wrap around our boy all his days.

Kentucky, you were good to us. Till next time!