Blogging from Bouctouche

We have arrived in Bouctouche. For the next two days, however, even this scenic corner of the province has been swept up in Rolling Stones fever. Mick-ton has replaced Le Pays de la Sagouine.
So I'm keeping it real here at Grand-papa et Grand-maman's place, dodging swarms of bees and mosquitoes. I must say it is a near replica of my Fredericton digs. Comfy crib, high-chair at Belle's head level and around-the-clock adult attention. One well-placed hiccup or a short heart-wrenching sob and platoons of parents are ready to storm the bastille.
For a baby the entire concept of a road trip is quite perplexing. I must spend more than two hours in a car facing the back seat. Hardly a breathtaking view. I'm in a new spot, I barely have found the best place to throw my soother and I have a hundred pairs of hands trying to hug me. Now don't get me wrong I love to cuddle (and I know I'm popular) but really there is a limit to how often I can conjure up cute conversations and saccarine smiles. Sometimes a baby would like to spit up in a less public forum.
But Bouctouche it is and I get to exchange the frog-shaped pool for a real pool full of pool noodles, floatation devices and colourful plastic poisson. Can a baby's life get any better?
Blogging from Bouctouche may be sporadic, especially if the sun continues to shine.