How Much Can You Take?

Ah, the holidays. A time when rest and relaxation never seemed so far away. My one year old and I were flying by ourselves trip to the grandparents' house over Thanksgiving. My daughter Pixie had been sick all the previous night and neither of us had gotten much rest. At 6 a.m. the next morning we groaned out of bed and headed to the airport. Being Thanksgiving weekend, it was a full flight and Pixie was my moronically designated “lap-child.” When you are five months pregnant like I am, “lap children” are a laughable fantasy. In preparation for the long flight with my lap-monkey, I didn't drink anything during the 12 hours before the flight so that at least my bladder would be comfortable. Additionally, in remembrance of past airplane traumas, I purchased children's Benadryl for Pixie to take on the airplane at the first signs of insanity.

We got on the plane. I was stuck with a cramped window seat and after only ten minutes of play Pixie got feisty. But I was prepared, right? I smugly pulled out the Benadryl and offered her the suggested dose. I was surprised when she refused to comply with my medicating attempts but I wouldn't take no for an answer. I held back her head and pried her mouth open to sneak a dose down her throat. She went nuts. From the sound of her screams, you'd think I was decapitating all of her stuffed animals in front of her eyes. I'm not sure how much, if any of the medicine made it down her throat, but after some worried looks from my fellow passengers, I sullenly surrendered the battle. Hopefully it was only a matter of time now before the medicine kicked in and she fell asleep. I waited. I waited. I waited. Pixie was still indignant and flung herself wildly about grabbing the hair of the man in front of us and ripping the in-flight magazine. This was not the plan and my face turned dark. Although Pixie seemed to be getting tired after 15 minutes of spasms, she was resisting sleep with every screaming cell in her body. Same old airplane scene. Why did I think this time would be any different than the last?

But I can handle this. I have traveled with Pixie almost every month since she was born and have learned to just shut up and take it until the plane touches down. But I wasn't prepared for what happened next.

A stewardess called over to me to get my attention. I turned to her with the hollow-eyed look of the condemned and raised my eyebrows to acknowledge her. "Ma'am, would you like me to take her for a little walk? Do you think she'd like that?"

"If you want her..." I grumbled. But I didn't move, thinking she had just asked to be nice and couldn't possibly want to handle my screaming baby. I waited for her to pass on but instead she waited expectantly so I shrugged and handed Pixie over the row of passengers to her outstretched arms.

With Pixie suddenly gone, I found the space in the window seat to be overwhelmingly luxurious. I didn't know what to do with all my new-found options. This sweet little flight attendant had just given me the unheard of opportunity to sit quietly on an airplane and breath evenly. This was all so unexpected - the kindness of a stranger had untied the knot on my tightly wound emotional state. A 30 pound psycho jumping on my bladder for three hours is a cake-walk, but unsolicited kindness was WAY out of my league. Not knowing what else to do, I burst into tears.

These were not cute little drips down my cheeks. No, this was an unrestrained release of all the tension I'd accumulated since waking up and every other miserable airplane ride with my wild lap-child. I'm talking moaning, cathartic sobs. Despite my unexpected reaction, I was able to pull myself together after a few minutes and took some deep breaths. I would enjoy this time to myself. I was just pulling out a magazine when the stewardess passed by again holding Pixie who was happily eating a chocolate chip muffin from first class. I lost it again. The next 45 minutes I spent trying to hold back the floods of weepy gratitude but went ballistic whenever I saw that dear sweet stewardess wandering past with my baby. After a while, people began turning to stare as my sobs were impossible to hide. Sympathetic women began offering their condolences, and tissues were springing from every corner. This was the last thing I needed and I felt sure that the tears that had now surfaced would spring forth eternal in the face of such overwhelming kindness from my fellow passengers. Each offer of charity was met with fresh waves of sobs.

Mercifully, 45 minutes later the flight attendant handed me back my baby who was bright eyed, bushy tailed and had a neat little sticker on her shirt from the captain. It was all I could do to mouth "thank you" to her. At last my tears were exhausted. With Pixie back in my arms, it was easy to pull together my game face and settle into my cramped corner with my mommy-resolve for the rest of the flight. My sleeves were covered with mascara, my nose totally stuffed up and my eyes were burning from the tears, but I felt better than I ever felt possible on a full flight. I just never saw it coming.