Thursday, April 22, 2010

This is a Trip

The problem with a 9:20 a.m. flight is that you really can't drink. I know that airports exist in a nowhere of notime, but it's too early for a chardonnay.

I'm on a plane, without my family, and I am an anxious flier. I can't let go, even though I know there's nothing I can do. There's nothing I can do to make it safer, there's nothing I could do to help in an emergency, there's nothing I can do. I have to cede control.

I hate that.

I am an anxious flier. I usually can’t seem to  let go. I mean, on a flight, there’s nothing I can do. You have to cede control; there’s nothing I can d to make it safer , there’s nothing I can do to  help; there’s nothing I can do.

I'm on my way to Los Angeles for five days of Mom Gone Wild (I am relatively certain I will be the only successful procreator at most of the events). I'm traveling alone, without my boys, away from my boy, away for the first time for more than one night, and it's going to be weird. I brought along a manual pump, and I’ll try to get to it at least once a day, but I’ll probably be fine, even if I don't get to it. After all, last time I checked, Lefty still worked, even though I hardly ever use it. It’s like sympathetic lactation. "Well The Boob is doing it..."

I didn't cry, but I thought about it. I held it back. Airports make me nervous enough to be able to do that. In the olden days, baby- and daddywhumpus could have accompanied me to the gate, and then I might have wept, but curbside, I still have to check in, check my bag, pay for it (for cryingoutloud), go through security, and get to the gate. There's too much to do for me to indulge in frivolous emotion. Finn watched as the car drove away, with an inscrutable look on his face. Mouth closed, eyes wide. I like to think it was "Hey, we're just leaving here here?"

The boys will be fine; I will be fine. I will mainly miss him in the morning, afternoon, and bedtime, when we do pillow. That's probably when he will miss me, too, at least for the first couple days.

I'm sitting next to a woman who is 26 weeks pregnant, "So [she's] got a long way to go."

She's already been pregnant half a week longer than I was, and I think "Sister, you just never know in this life." I wonder if I should say anything, probably not, but I can't help myself.

“I had mine at 25 and a half weeks.” It could have been worse. Much, much worse. I could have just said something like "Well, here's hoping."

“Oh, don’t say that!” she responded.

I said that the thing she should keep in mind is that the care they can provide is excellent, but odds are, she will be fine. We talked a lot about what that was like, and she got to see pictures of what her fetus probably looks like right now, and how often can someone say that?

It’s bumpy, and I am watching Mad Men Season Three..

Too bumpy. I hate flying. Super bumpy. 11:04 a.m. I hate this. Ten minutes of turbulence ahead of us, they say.

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