We're going to Portland, Oregon in a few hours for my cousin B's wedding. The little angel is sleeping in her bouncy seat, snuffling like a bear. I'm anxious. I had nightmares last night of six hours of a screaming little angel tearing at her ears and looking at me with those eyes that say, "Mama, make it go away! MAKE IT GO AWAY!" and me helplessly aspirating her with that stupid blue balloon thing that couldn't suck a booger if it had a vacuum attached to it.
Many other mothers of smaller children than the little angel have already taken their babies on planes. One to Boston, one to San Diego, one to Las Vegas. They smile and coo, "Don't worry. She'll sleep. Just have her eat on ascent and descent." That's the problem...because we're cheap and had a free ticket on Southwest, we went that route before realizing we have three ascents and three descents on the way out and two of each on the way back. I can't feed her every twenty minutes, can I? Is sucking a pacifier the same as sucking a bottle for ear control? I have no idea. We will terrorize flight attendants and weary air travelors from one end of this great country to the other, I fear. Maybe I should just dress her in a Metallica t-shirt now and tell everyone it's a phase she's going through. She's gone vegan and won't turn down her stereo, and SHE SCREAMS. People will look at me with those disdainful "naughty mother" eyes and whisper to each other about parents who shouldn't attempt to fly with small children. I will bury my head in In Touch magazine and read about celebrity mothers with private jets to chariot their fruit-named babies across the pond. I will think positive thoughts and sing Itsy Bitsy Spider. If it gets really bad, I will change her diaper publically and forget to bring a plastic baggy. I will endear flight attendants to our plight and they will stand heroically in a line in front of us, just like the cone-breasted androids in Austin Powers movies. It will be fine.
It will be fine.
It will be fine.