The lights in the bedroom turns on, waking me up. Mommy picks me up from the crib. I rub my eyes with my stubby fingers. What time is it, and who in the right mind would wake up a 2-month-old!?
“Good morning Izzy, it’s time to go to the airport,” Mommy whispers in my ears.
She places me in the car seat sitting in the middle of the room; I struggle at first, demanding a definition of the word “airport.” Instead, she gives me a warm bottle of milk – I guess that is a fair trade. Shortly after, we step out of the house and walk towards the car; a cool breeze greets us in the dark. “There shouldn’t be much traffic at 4 AM,” said Daddy as he starts the car. I slowly drift to sleep from the vibrations of the car; I like car rides.
Some rough movements wake me up again. Mommy is strapping me tightly in the baby carrier, her head looming over mine as she kisses me. This time, we are in a massive, bright building. There are tons of people walking around; none came over to say hi, how rude.
She looks at Daddy with a pleading look, “I don’t think I can go to China by myself anymore. Let’s go home.”
Daddy gently said, “let’s see what happens when you make the connection. If you don’t want to do it anymore, come home.” He gives us each a kiss and a warm, long, bear hug. Then Mommy grabs the carry-on luggage and gets in line; she turns around for one last look. I, too, glimpse at Daddy as he waves from afar, farther away than ever before. Why are we separating? Mommy whispers, “It’s okay, we’ll be okay” – is she saying that to herself?
The rest is a blur – contents in suitcases flying everywhere and beeping sounds going off occasionally.
Worst of all, people randomly taking off their shoes in public, do the guys in uniforms like to sniff sweaty feet?
“That’s my bag,” exclaims Mommy as she walks past rows of people. A tall stranger is turning my bottle upside down. I let out a loud revolting cry only to be shushed by Mommy. Well, technically, it’s her breast milk – she has the final say. I whimper as he opens the bottle.
Hey! Get your dirty hands off my chow, don’t you dare drink my portion.
He looks up as if finally understanding me, gives me a huge smile, and said, “aww, you’re so cute.” He continues to examine the liquid gold, one of them in its frozen form, and puts them through a machine. Finally, he places the two bottles back in the backpack and said, “you’re good to go.” Mommy gathers our belongings while I recollect his every move – did he switch out the milk?
Mommy rushes to the business lounge, muttering how I must be hungry being up for so long.
She closes the door to a dark, private room with a big lounge chair for breastfeeding and a changing table—finally, some peace in this chaotic dream. As I guzzle down my meal, I drift off to sleep, thinking I’ll wake up soon in my crib with both parents smiling down at me.