A view from the top

I write this at 30,000 feet, enduring a cross-country flight while shoved into a seat that seems to have been designed for someone who is 4'2". When the man in the seat in front of me reclined his seat, I thought my bookie had come to reclaim a bad debt. So, here I sit, unable to cross my legs, unable to open the screen on my laptop fully, wondering why I put myself through this torture. Oh yeah, it's a work trip.

Anyway, DOM, with her usual sense of timing, spiked a high fever yesterday, which means – joy of joys – that we got to visit with her several times over the course of the night last night. I felt bad for her because as her fever was spiking she was very obviously uncomfortable, but the early wake up call kept looming in the back of my mind.

She has an incredible ability to sense what would be the single most inconvenient time to get sick and then come down with a 112-degree fever or an illness requiring complete and total quarantine. So, for example, in the two days before I ran my first marathon, there she was barfing her way through the early hours of the morning. On those few occasions where both Mr. MOM and I have huge deadlines at work, she has come down with bronchiolitis or the flu or some other malady that sends us screaming to the doctor's office or the emergency room.

Now, you might say that perhaps we overreact in taking her in. But these trips are all doctor-suggested, after a long discussion of symptoms. I wouldn't be surprised to see our pediatrician tooling about town in a new Hummer, thanks to the billings from DOM's visits.

So, here I sit, wishing I had been more diligent with the yoga practice, hoping against hope that I left all her germs back home, because there is something wonderful waiting for me at the end of this trip – a nice, cozy hotel room that does not come equipped with a baby monitor. I know I'll pay for it when I get back home, but for now, the thought of two nights of peace and quiet – two nights of uninterrupted sleep – is almost intoxicating.