Here we are, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, which kind of frightens me for some reason, like I might fall off the edge into the vast blue expanse. It’s Michael’s birthday party tomorrow, and it seems like the whole village is invited. An entire half frozen calf is sitting on a table in the backyard, all stretched out and ready to be impressively barbequed early in the morning, polynesian style. I wish Michael knew that we were roasting a whole calf for him. I am excited to see the logistics of this. Photos will be shared in due course, assuming I actually have a hand free to take photos, thanks to Mr Clingy over here. A deadly cocktail of new environment, new people, new time zone, new routines and new bugs (yes, bad bite/sting on the sole of his foot today) has meant that my boy currently needs more consoling and cuddling than a newborn. It’s very sweet and exhausting. I do feel for the little guy though. He is of that awkward age where he knows things are different and strange but no way of understanding why they are.
SO much to share, you guys. We need to talk about red-eye flights. Specifically, how an 11 hour one can be so much better than a 6 hour one. And how one should always bring diarrhoea medicine while travelling, to prevent utter panic and mayhem. And how Japanese babies don’t cry in buses and trains because they know the rules of silence on public transport, evidently. And how my baby will always cry on the buses and trains because he knows that will mortify his parents.
But first, there’s a calf to be roasted, and a baby to be celebrated.