I didn't realize what a toll jetlag can take- especially if you are a little baby.
Little Fellow (LF), in the space of 72 hours, has undertaken a 19h flight, endured cramped spaces and disorienting, shifting time zones, a barrage of new faces and higher noise levels, with a remarkable amount of patience and equanimity. He did throw a fit yesterday morning, when faced with yet another round of new faces, while being desperately tired, but that is totally excusable. But trying times are still ahead: the biggest and most urgent consequence is constipation. LF's digestive system, tending to be a bit creaky at the best of times, seems to have gone on a temporary strike. Next is the upcoming trip to easily one of the hottest places in India- Chennai. I called Chennai my home during my undergrad years, and in the 6 years since I left India, I always felt a great affection for it based on nostalgia. But now that I actually have to go there (and that too in March... of course, it could have been worse. It might have been April... or May or June or really, any month), I feel some trepidation. What if LF finds it unbearably hot and humid? What if he gets a bad headache? What if the food doesn't agree with him?
In the end, one can only prepare so much. This is something I learned from my mother-in-law, and it has served me well in the few months that I have put it to the test: There's no point worrying relentlessly about things outside one's control. One prepares as well as one can and then prays to the Big Being Above. There's something very liberating about this approach- there's a clear endpoint to planning and preparing for anything. And then one admits, "There. Can't do anything more. Please, oh Big Being Above, take over"
