Leaving on a Jet Plane

Written on Friday.  Oh blog, I just don't know how to quit you!

I am sitting among people I don’t know.  Two young girls with their mom are behind me; they are talking about something they left at the gate.  To my right is a man wearing a short-sleeve shirt covered in puppies.  Orange-brown puppies. Upon closer inspection I can see it’s actually bears and there is a Yellowstone logo on the pocket.  This does not really improve my initial impression of the shirt.  A woman stands by the window: pregnant.  I'm mildly sad about my own womb situation for a second.  Oh wait. Not pregnant. Bad posture. Or maybe pregnant. Dunno. Across from me is a couple: an old man in a NAVY hat shaking the ice in his drink like he's playing the maracas and his wife, clearing her throat in an eh-eh-eh-eh-eh way that takes only 0.002 seconds to irritate me.

I hope they’re not seated next to me on the plane. They will drive me nuts.

On second thought, they would not be bad seat partners. They seem unlikely to vomit. That’s really all I need in a seat partner.  99% of my nightmares remain dedicated to the horror that is someone vomiting near me.  Nevermind that planes crash, it's the vomit that scares me.

I am, obviously, at the airport. Waiting for a plane that will take me away, really away, from my baby for the first time. This is the first trip that is more than a simple overnight.  And those overnights were in the same city as Bella, only separated from her by minutes, so they don't really count.  This time I can't comfort myself with the ability to rush home in the event of a dire "what if?"

I am equal parts excited and fearful.  I can't wait to see my preggy sister, my brother-in-law, and all of her/their/my friends.  I love North Carolina in the fall and the thought of a trip without needing to manage anyone other than myself sounds blissful. It's going to be great.  But the fearful part can't be ignored. It’s hard to say what I’m afraid of exactly. I’m not afraid of Husband not being able to take care of Bella.  He will do fine - great, really - and she might even get to sport some extra special fashions this weekend and guzzle some contraband juice.  So what is there to fear?

When I really try to write out what it is that I'm afraid of, it seems it boils down to me being afraid of her really missing me and wondering where I’ve gone.  Of her thinking I've abandoned her. Of her being upset with me when I return home.  I fear the unknown. I can't precisely predict what will happen and I don't like that.  And I hate, really hate, the thought of my baby's heart hurting because her mama isn't there.

A parent who considers themselves to be a full-fledged 'Attachment Parent' might read about a woman leaving her 16-month-old for the weekend (a weekend trip that is just for fun, mind you) and think it’s a terrible idea.  Other parents might read about a woman leaving her 16-month old for the weekend and wonder why she waited so long to give herself a little time away to relax and reclaim that former self.  I agree with both groups.  It’s a terrible idea and why did I wait so long? 

And so here I sit, ready to board a plane, fighting back tears, using the distraction of the 50+ irritating passengers around me to keep those tears at bay, and I realize that this is just another moment in the life of a parent.  Another step forward.  Another shift in the parent-child relationship. The change and evolution of a mama - of a woman - never stops.

But along with the certainty of change, comes the certainty that some things will probably never change.

I really hope no one vomits on this plane.