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The weather, like Devi's temperature, lately, has peaked and dipped: during the first week of November, the outdoor temperature hit a record 70 degrees, and just days before, our baby hit her first fever over 101. Unseasonable heat and unfamiliar territory beyond the typical baby colds: it's an early flu season and this year, it's scary. As I type this, there have been two commercials to mention the H1N1 virus; Devi was lucky enough to get immunized last week when her ongoing cold abated for all of five days--consequently, it was during these five days when we traveled to Florida to join our niece Logan (and her parents--my brother and sister-in-law, and other, younger niece Nora), Logan's Noni and Papi, who graciously subsidized the trip save for the airfare, and my mom, who was all too happy to be traveling with her three granddaughters in tow.
I'm not a huge fan of The Mouse (why did he sound like a Lost Boy of the Castrati?). Never have been. But that doesn't mean the magic of Disney didn't find it's way into my childhood.
As a little girl, I'm sure I pinned all my romantic hopes on a Prince Charming thanks to the spin perpetuated by movies like Cinderella and Snow White; I can even remember the record album of Cinderella that I'd listened to at least 200 times a day (mainly for the 'bibbity-bobbity-boo' song). The 14 or so kids on my block, one summer in the early 1980's, performed our own version of "Peter Pan" in the Turner's backyard, probably because they were the only ones with a pool, a perfect respite after a long afternoon's rehearsal. I can't tell you what part I played, but the play entailed our swinging from the monkey bars on the Turner's swingset to simulate flying. I'm sure our performance inspired our parents toward a mean cocktail hour immediately following.
[And during the babysitting years (the truth, finally!), a romantic interest once surprised me while I was 'on duty' with a VHS tape of "Aladdin," which I think he hoped would inspire some action on some very trusting people's couch. It didn't, to his dismay--but the movie was fun, especially the raucous Robin Williams parts.]
Even as a young woman, I took issue with the Wonderful World of Mousedom when, walking down the aisle SOLO in my brother's wedding, already painfully and self-consciously processing as the older, single, sister, Staci had chosen "Someday, My Prince Will Come" to make the point. It may have been one of the lowest points in my life as a single woman, but, Heath reminds me, Your prince is right here, baby! Thank heavens.
But a trip to Disney World, as a parent, incited some panic in me I couldn't quite identify at first. Maybe it was the fleeting images of the faceless, massive crowds through which Heath and I would be weaving a mere nine-month-old in a stroller. Maybe it was the question of how a family of ten were going to manage through it all at once--two babies, only months apart, who'd need frequent breaks and diaper changes and snacks and hydration (Orland also, apparently, was experiencing record high temperatures). Or maybe--and most likely-- it was the threat of germs, germs, germs, in and around the Small World and Peter Pan rides, all over the life-size Pinocchio costume we'd doubtlessly be hugging (right?), The Surfaces of Everything at the park. Sneezy isn't sneezing in character, kids--that's the Swine Flu! Run! Run! Before the Evil H1N1 gets you too!
Welcome to my tendency towards worst-case scenarios. I'll admit that my germaphobic idiosyncracy (even though it's far less overt than some others' I know) is not a new topic on this blog and I'm sure it's getting old--witness that I did say somewhere here that if reincarnation really exists, I'll probably return as an airbag--and I'll admit that even en route to Japan, one of the cleanest countries in the world, I stocked up on the Handi-Wipes and made certain that each blind pocket of my diaper bag had some inside. Heath talked me out of seeking out a ventilated travel bubble for the baby (please, if you know of such an invention, get in touch).
But something funny happened on the way to Epcot Center. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was overstimulation. But The Happiest Place on Earth somehow made me forget about germs--not the entire time, mind you--hands were washed and wiped
