Mr. Isaac has lived in this hotel room longer than anywhere else in his short life. That breaks my heart a little. I’m not sure why; it’s not like he’s loved less for our location. But whatever, here’s what’s cute: babies playing on the floor. Here’s what’s not cute: setting your baby down on icky motel carpet. I shudder. Anyway, about 24 hours after we arrived Stateside we invested in this excellent baby floor mat gym thing. The lights and classical music serenade morning playtime and (I like to think) bring some normalcy to our lack of routine.
Mr. Monkey (thanks Chrissy!) hangs out next to Mr. Octopus, and Isaac happily gnaws on his starfish teething ring or samples the frog legs (thanks Han!). He only started getting the hang of grabbing things and guiding them into his maw about a week ago so we still think it’s cute. It travels well, too, and around hour nine of driving between Texas and Florida the light-up musical thing got unVelcroed, fished out of the back, and propped up for Isaac’s listening and viewing pleasure. Back at the motel at nighttime, Isaac bounces in his jump-up suspended from the door frame (thanks Mom!). This is much less intrusive than the vibrating bouncy seats that just slice your toes off in limited space arrangements. And since he has neither a crib nor a mobile, we find Isaac’s lullaby music box encased in a tiny train pillow 100% indispensable (thanks Nancy!). It’s the only thing that calms him down sometimes. There is magic in that music.
So there you go—no need to rip your hair out wishing you’d not packed all the baby things when the movers arrived early; babies do just fine in motels with a few modifications. But let’s be honest: clearly Isaac is not suffering. The baby stuff is more about my convenience and delight, or at least would relieve my ‘sorry you’re a homeless baby living in a motel’ guilt, so let’s get in that house!