We're Home!

Fine, we've been home awhile now, but like the 9-month doctors appointment, it's taken me awhile to get around to writing about the journey. And I should start off by saying it was a journey Em & I conquered on our own. Jeff left Victoria one week into the trip so it was just us girls.

I'll start by telling you how I did the responsible thing and booked the only direct Victoria-Toronto flight offered. Unfortunately the flight left at 6:00 am. That said, I had to wake up at 3:30 am as I still had to feed Emma, pack up the playpen, finish vacuuming the condo, finish packing all my stuff, and so on and so on and so on... Of course, I didn't lay down to go to sleep until 1:00 am. And when you lay down at 1:00 knowing full well that you have to be awake in 2.5 hours, and you're not entirely sure if you've set the alarm clock properly, well.. the end result is no sleep at all. Considering all this, I thought I looked pretty good... Decided to dress comfortably in grey capri-style sweatpants with coordinating lavender hoodie & my faithful orange flip flops. Actually put on make-up, and my hair looked quite alright. I was feeling pretty good...

I arranged for a taxi to pick us up at 4:30 am - not knowing where Victoria airport is, but it's not a big island - how far could the main airport really be? You'll be pleased to know we arrived at about 5:20. You see, when the cab got me, the driver then had to help load all my luggage & wait while I struggled to install the car seat properly.. IT'S STILL NOT TIGHT ENOUGH! Okay, he installed it - I supervised. It's a much better role.

Did I mention that it was pouring rain outside? It hadn't had but a drop of rain the entire time I was there, but my final morning it was absolutely pissing. Made for an appropriate send-off... Victoria was sad to see us go. And we were sad to leave. That said, we pulled up to the airport & the first thing I noticed - and it was hard to miss - was the line OUTSIDE THE DOOR of travellers with their luggage. Although it's in Canada, the Victoria airport is quite similar to the Nassau airport of 1987. So there's Emma & I, standing outside in the pouring rain - me pushing her in her stroller with one hand, while directing my cart containing: one extremely oversized suitcase; one playpen; one carseat & base; one enormous knapsack; and one diaper bag with the other hand. Time a' ticking, we made our way through the line & up to the front to get checked in. Normally, I would do this at the electronic kiosk, but when I looked for them here, I was greeted with a big sign saying "Electronic Check-In Coming Soon!" Like they were excited for it, rather than pissed off it wasn't there already. (A shining example of my glass-half-empty world.)

First thing I do is inquire about flight capacity - any extra seats for my adorable Bay baby child? She's a su-su-supastar dontcha know. I mean, it's ridiculously early and my God - we're in Victoria. It's not Vancouver, it's not a busy place. There's got to be extra space. There's got to be a Jeff - a guy who is running late & ultimately misses the flight and frees up a seat for my little Em. All sweet, I ask the very bitchy Air Canada rep who seems to take delight in telling me that NO, NO YOUR CHILD CANNOT RIDE FOR FREE as the flight has indeed been oversold. She then proceeds to tell me that we have to go to security, then up to our gate. I ask where security is and - get this - I have to go back out the front doors and WALK OUTSIDE the equivalent of a city block in the pouring rain to get to the next building, and there I will find security. (When they say "keep going past the construction" you've got to wonder.) Before I started the trek I had to return my luggage cart so now I'm pushing Emma in the stroller, diaper bag hanging off of that, and enourmous 40 lb. bright red knapsack strapped to my back making me look quite like the hunchback of notre-dame.

We make it to the security checkpoint and Emma, who at this point, had been drifting in & out of consciousness, was in a deep deep sleep. Sure enough I'm told that I must take her out of the stroller and WALK HER through the metal detector. Really? I can't push her through in the stroller? Would you believe the answer was no? Well, it was. NO. STROLLER & SLEEPING BABY MUST BE PUSHED THROUGH SEPARATELY. So yes, right at the beginning of a 5.5 hour flight, a flight that is completely full with no extra seats, I am forced to wake my sleeping child. And go figure - she doesn't beep. Stroller doesn't beep. I don't beep. Strangely enough, the diaper bag beeps. Now they have to search it. Damn metal-handled baby spoons.

We get up to the gate just in time for pre-boarding. At this point, I have to pee like crazy but no time. Guess I'll have to wait till after take-off. My previously cute hair is now enormous and frizzy from the rain so it gets put up into a half-ass bun - the kind with strands sticking out all over the place cuz I can't see what I'm doing. It was boiling hot so I removed the cute hoodie and sported my ill-fitting, very ratty & very frayed Old Navy white T-shirt. My lack of sleep was totally catching up with me. I eventually caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and go figure - I wasn't looking quite so cute anymore. Nevermind the outfit, but all my make-up seemed to disappear - pale as a ghost, and black mascara completely smuged under each eye. If it were evening, and I was wearing a low-cut cocktail dress, it could have passed for vampy. In any case, the flight attendants were fantastic - they all loved Emma who, by the way, was a dream passenger. Stuck on my lap for the entire time, she was a champ and a half. Only slept for about an hour, and only got fussy the final 15 minutes. All our neighbours were impressed. And I was pleased that I didn't have to smell shit the entire flight this time around.

Finally we land. We're home!!! Walking through Pearson to get our luggage it dawns on me that I don't have house keys. Shit shit shit! I start frantically calling Jeff. No answer. Surprise surprise. Then I call my mother (thank God she's got a key). She's home. Surprise surprise. I'm walking, chatting, pushing Emma, heaving the 40 lb. red knapsack over my already ill-fitting frayed t-shirt, grey sweatpants (did I mention they have a rip in the leg?), orange flip-flops, no make-up, no sleep, frizzy hair in a bun. It's now 2:30 pm Toronto time. So tired, I push Emma onto the moving sidewalk (so very Jetson's!). I'm talking to my mother about meeting me at my house so she can let me in when I do the dreaded "Oh my God, I can't look any worse if I tried" doubletake. Fuckaduck. There's gorgeous Kathleen, her gorgeous husband, and gorgeous child. Been so long since I've seen her that I didn't even know she had a 2-year old. Kathleen was my old boss when back when I was employed. Of course, she looked to-die-for. All blonde & thin & put-together. I looked like the Portugese housekeeper. The red knapsack & orange flip flops completed my ensamble quite nicely.

We do the whole "OMG.. HOW ARE YOU?!" thing... make promises to keep in touch, etc., etc., etc. And all I can think of is their conversation after we parted ways:

H: So, that was Alissa?
K: Yeah... she really let herself go.

You probably think my story is finished, hmm? No. So, Em & I make our way to the luggage carosel, and seeing that we stopped to chat for the 10 minutes or so, most of the people & bags from our flight were already gone. Standing there, we watched the three same items go around & around & around with no trace of any of our belongings. I noticed another girl standing about 10 feet away from me, about my age, looking very Kathleen-like in great fitting jeans & amazing shoes, also waiting for her bags. We did the half-smile thing, what with being the last two people standing... and waiting... And sure enough our bags did eventually come our way. Big joy of the direct flight - how far can they really go? My enormous black bag was so enormous that she had to actually help me pull it off the carosel & load it onto my buggy. Once that was done, down fell the playpen. That's light enough, but again, she help steady the buggy while I positioned it on top of the suitcase. She then stood back and took notice of my situation: There I was, pushing the stroller with one hand, and about to attempt to push the cart piled high with the suitcase, playpen, 40 lb. knapsack, diaper bag, carseat & base. And being the very kind stranger that she was, she told me to wait right there and she went off to find me a red cap. You'd think this would be easy - find a guy, give him some money, and he'd help you with all your stuff. This poor girl spent a good 10 minutes going from Air Canada employee to Air Canada employee - no one could get off their ass to help get her a porter. Frustrated, she came back and said she'd push the buggy - the buggy was literally piled higher than both of us. And it didn't go backward. She walked me outside to the waiting cabs, and I thanked her profusely. And then...

G: Oh... you did want a cab?
A: (thinking... a cab, or maybe I'll treat myself to a limo..)
G: Or, umm ... did you need a bus?

Oh. My. God... I really did look like the foreign housekeeper.

Funny postscript here is that I got home, started to settle in when the phone rang. It was Jeff.

J: What are you doing home?
A: Huh? What do you mean?
J: (anxious) How did you get home???
A: Cab. You said you couldn't pick me up, remember!?
J: You didn't see the limo driver holding a huge sign with your name on it & carrying a dozen roses??