Domo Ara-gato

	High Flyin' The morning started out well. Initially, darling Ara was enchanted by all the wonderousness of air-travel. The stewardesses were totally in love with her, and all was going well. She slept most of the way through the flight! The fun didn't really begin until it was time to land, and the wee one had to be strapped in with a special seatbelt designed, it seems, to tax the patience of even the best fed baby. For a while, she was placatable with clicking sounds, and then with the engaging and unattainable items from the duty free magazine, but finally, after a full 30 mins of sitting next to (but not at) the gate, the wailing began. The formerly friendly stewardesses, strapped well into their nearby jumpseats, quickly started averting their eyes, and finally adopted a blank stare to try to distance themselves from the cause of the problem. All our appeals for taking her out of the seatbelt prematurely were met with derision. So the wailing continued. We tried not to notice the angry looks of the co-passengers as they "deplaned" before us. But all this pain was quickly forgotten as it became clear that our "with child" status got us to the front of all immigration and customs lines! What a bonus! Plus, we wound up immigrating into Tokyo right next to (we're really really sure of this) Rap artist, Chingy, and his posse (he was rolling with his moms, it must be known)
	Overstimulated In Shibuya For the first two nights of our stay in Tokyo, we rested our heads at the Sakura Fleur hotel in Shibyua, which was, tantalizingly, right across the street from a (closed exactly when we were able to shop there) Lululemon store. Shibuya is an exciting district, and is mental overload for even the most seasoned traveller. Needless to say, Ara was shocked to the point of hysteria. Her little eyes were so wide open that we honestly thought she may blow apart any second. It was in Shibuya that Ara began what is now her commonplace "groan herself to sleep" practice. Not the best. They say that experience ages a person (do they? well they do now). That was certainly the case for Ara in Shibuya. She went there a baby, and came out ... well ... a very slightly larger, more mentally active baby. During our day, there, however, we were whisked to University of Tokyo for my workshop, where poor Ryan was held captive as breastfeeding facilitator. During this time, he spotted the famed 'painted radio' (shown left). As for dinners, which we were quite excited about, our two nights in Shibuya were dubious in their culinary distinction. Night one, to try to calm a freezing baby (who knew Tokyo would be quite that cold?) we fled to our hotel room with microwaved mini-meals from AM/PM in tow. Night two, after running screaming (literally) from a delightful "sit on the floor and wish you'd done more yoga" izakaya, we found solice at McDonalds. The next morning we did manage to actually sit down to eat somewhere: we dined on pancakes at a "Family Restaraunt", with bottomless lattes (LOVE Tokyo!) and "solid food" (read: jello capsules) for baby.
	Moving On to the Imperial Palace The last night of our stay we were in the imperial palace. I was workshopping once again (but at a different location, hence the move of hotels) and Ryan was free to wander the grounds of the palace. Interestingly, he chose to wander the perimeter instead, and wound up once again exhausting Ara to the point of her falling asleep in the Bjorn. Unfortunately, this did not translate to a happy baby in the evening, and we were forced to flee another very cool izakaya due to screams so blood curdling and eerily well timed you'd think Ara was an activist against the inhumanity of Kobe Beef.
	The Last Morning Finally, it was time for me to do a little sightseeing. We wandered a little around the area of our hotel, and sipped coffee on the remarkably chilled out streets of Tokyo. Little one napped comfortably during all this in the sling.
	Bus Of Shame So, the bus ride started out well, with little one still happy from a lovely morning of slinging and bjorning. She seemed almost too happy, to be perfectly honest. And that's when we knew, this was the calm before the storm. Once again, Ara's timing was impeccable - she chose the very middle of the bus ride to the airport to break her four-day stretch of poolessness. As soon as it started, Ryan and I began negotiations about who would be the one to deal with our now very chilled out baby. Heroically, I stepped up to the .. um .. plate. If you've ever changed a baby in a bus toilet, then you know the hell I went through. Insufficient lighting, insane swaying, loud noises (causing Ara to attempt to flip over in what can only be assumed to be a baby defense mechanism), and No Change Table. Amazingly, I affected an on-lap-change with complete absence of diaper breach. The rest of the trip went wonderfully well. We met very nice people on the plane ride back, and arrived at Hong Kong with a happy little world traveller.

Flipping Out!

Alas, the age of carefree child abandonment is over: Ara is flipping over! It started slowly, with grunts and cries, and gradually built to a constant obsession with no longer being in the orientation in which she was put down. In the beginning, the big barrier seemed to be her right arm. She could get half way over, but what to do with that arm was a huge problem! But for us it was a blessing. We could glance away, hands-free, and not worry too much. "Oh - she'll never get over - look at that arm! She's going nowhere!" And there she would be - right arm extended awkwardly across her chest while she tried to reach over with her left arm and grab at something to pull her over the rest of the way. But then, one fateful day, she figured out that the key is to pull her arm in, and THEN flip. She doesn't really need her arms to flip. The whole thing depends on her enormously (and prematurely) strong neck. She actually hoists herself over by pushing her head back as far as it will go, and then writing around, worm-like. Unfortunately, her freedom of movement is once again curtailing our efforts to keep her TV-free. We used to be able to keep the TV out of eyeshot by lying her down, facing us. But then she realised she could turn, and tummy-time her way to technicolor bliss. Incredible, since tummy-time used to be a source of stress for her, and incredible whining would insue. Not now! Now, tummy-time is the gateway to moving pictures and hours of entertainment. As you can see above, Ara flips over, only to express consternation over Gilby's delivery of the tough news to a rocker hopeful. Rock on Storm! You'll always be right for OUR band.

Hoopsketball!

The other day, Ara made her debut on the basketball scene, in a mosquito-ridden, sunset outing to one of the more scenic basketball courts on earth. Ara hung out, made some noise, and watched daddy attempt to reclaim is youth. Her expression was doubtful through the whole thing. While her turn around jump shot still needs work, it's fair to say she's got dribbling down pat.