Time Zone Trauma
We were hoping that somehow flying six hours across three time zones wouldn't affect Austen's body clock, but of course that was a totally ridiculous notion. The poor boopster is still sleeping at the moment, probably convinced that it's the middle of the night. He woke up at 3:30am screaming; Al hypothesized that he was just waking up at his normal 6:30am ET, but as the person he was sleeping closest to (he kept pursuing the boobs with such zeal, even in his sleep, that he had me hanging off the side of the King-sized bed), I can confirm that his nasal passages clogged to the point where he couldn't breathe. The scream was a scream of panic.
We've been humidifying his room at home for the past couple nights because he caught the respiratory infection I had, and the doctor said a moist room would help him breathe. I think between the airplane and the extra-dry hotel room, the snot in his nose solidified and his delicate nasal passages swelled to the point where it was like trying to breathe through a coffee stirrer. I got him up, steamed up the bathroom, and sat in there for a while with him, which seemed to help. I'll be buying a small humidifier for him today.
Oh, he just woke up. Good morning, sunshine!
Austen's also probably all out of whack because of the extra stimulation he got yesterday. Between smiling at everyone in the airport and on the plane and playing with half my former colleages at Macromedia (the other half were working at home yesterday), he was pretty exhausted by the time we went out for dinner at around 6. (A big hooray again for Taylor's Automatic.)
OK, the kid is now well and truly awake, so I'd better get on with the diaper changing. We're going over to Oakland today to see Morrisa and Miranda—yay!