This post is dedicated to my best friend Steph, who brings home her new daughter today from the hospital.
My first plane was delayed for over an hour and a half. I made my way over to the gate in the Salt Lake City airport, tried unsuccessfully to log onto the wifi, made a few calls. Watched the departure time adjust later and later to Denver. Asked the very sweet and empathetic United Airway gate agent if there was anything she could do about me missing my connection to Kansas City. She reserved me a seat on the last flight of the day out of Denver and told me to think positive.
I curled back up in the chair and waited for four and a half hours until the 4:30 flight finally took off at 6:30. I missed my 7:30 connection by 25 minutes.
As I collapsed into the seat of the 9:35 flight, I wondered how bad the blisters on the bottom of my feet really were. The high-heeled black boots weren't made for travel. After trucking all around the conference and up and down two different airports, I could feel the balls of my feet burning every time I stood. I glanced over at the young family of three sitting across from me. The little boy was shrieking, maybe 18 months old. Despite my annoyance with the noise, I remembered traveling with the little angel at that age, how topsy and wiggly toddlers are, and how mean the world can be when you can't contain them. I rummaged through my laptop bag looking for something to offer the family if the sound escalated. All I could find was a notebook.
The video monitors dropped, and a United air-safety video started to play. It was the most thorough air-safety video I've ever seen, and I was impressed with the various ways the female flight attendants found to wear their black neck scarves. In boredom, I glanced over at the little family. The flight attendant who favored the front-tie scarf was explaining how to inflate a life jacket in the case of a water landing. She showed a diagram of where the life jacket was stowed under the seat. "Check for the red tag," she said brightly. As I watched, the young father felt under his seat. His fingers located the red tag, and he sat back, the other hand still on his son's arm.
The child was quiet during the flight, happily bouncing, paci firmly planted in mouth, on his mother's knee. It was late, and I looked worse for the wear than the kid did. About a half hour before we landed, the little boy curled up on his father's lap and fell asleep. The father smoothed the boy's hair away from his face and leaned down to kiss his forehead.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it wasn't. I wanted to cry.
This is how parenthood changes you. Without realizing it, you start checking for the life vest. Taking care of yourself and a little person becomes more important than anything else in the universe. And you don't even realize it's happening.
