I experienced my own milestone this holiday season. It was my first time traveling alone with Henry. Mike flew back from my parent's house on the Sunday after Christmas, and Henry and I stayed until New Year's Eve. My travel logistics were relatively straightforward: direct flight, no connections, short flying time (just over one hour). My parents escorted us as far as they possibly could, and we were met by Mike upon arrival just outside of the security barriers.
Nevertheless, I was nervous about the experience. My anxiety was centered on three specific fears:
1. How do I remove Henry from the stroller, fold up the stroller, place all of our belongings on the x-ray belt, set off the metal detector alarm (thanks titanium hip!), and get my special security
wanding all while wrangling a 15 month old? (Answer: I am still not sure how I managed to do that while keeping at least one hand on Henry at all times. FYI, if you are carrying a child when you set off the alarms, the child needs to be
wanded, too.)
2. How am I going to change a diaper on a plane? (Answer: Didn't need to! Dodged that bullet.)
3. What do I do if Henry starts crying, screaming, flailing, whining, kicking, vomiting, or all of the above at the same time? (Answer: he didn't do any of that! He was sweet, happy, content, and mellow the whole time.)
On the flight, Henry was a tad squirmy but not resistant to being held. Really, he was near perfect - no fussing, no whining, nothing. (Of course, perfection would have been his falling asleep during take off). The only sounds he ever made were little giggles and delighted engine sounds to mimic the plane. He drank out of his
sippy cup like a gentleman, read his books and even thoroughly perused that pamphlet that alerts one to the location of the exits, etc. Although one would think that sitting on a plane and holding a toddler isn't all that much to do, I felt like I was working hard. I was constantly monitoring the mood and environment at all times to detect signs of hunger, impatience, boredom, irritation, anything that might lead to a slight rise in his voice.
About halfway into our flight, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I was a competent parent who could fly alone with a toddler. My child was not the one who was screaming a few rows back. My child was not the one who was whining incessantly across the aisle. And I was not the mother who spent the entire flight saying, "Just stay in your seat. Stay in your seat. STAY. IN. YOUR. SEAT." I started to relax and began to think that I may actually be able look at a magazine. Then, out of the blue, the man seated in front of us turned around and said, "PLEASE STOP KICKING MY SEAT!"
Immediately, I felt guilt and shame - my face turned red, my heart raced, and my eyes welled up. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He turned around quickly, and I was left feeling guilty and embarrassed by the scolding. Then, I realized,
no one was kicking his seat. Henry wasn't kicking, and I certainly wasn't kicking his seat. (Although, I wanted to at this point). What was this guy talking about? Did he just assume that a toddler would be kicking his seat? I caught the confused looks and sidelong glances of the other passengers in my row. What was going on? Had Henry been kicking away at the back of this person's seat, and I just didn't notice it? Henry reached for his book again in the seat pocket in front of him, and the man turned around again with an exasperated sigh. Then, it hit me. I was so focused on preventing
actual kicking that I didn't realize that Henry's playing would be disruptive. Apparently, reaching for books in and out of the seat pocket felt like violent kicks to the person in the row in front of us.
I adjusted Henry in my arms so he would no longer have access to the seat pocket. But since I readjusted his angle, he quickly began to focus his energies on the poor girl sitting next to us. She was watching a movie on her
iPod and that looked like quite a lot of fun. He tried to grab it. I repositioned him again. He twisted. He began to get frustrated. His squirming increased. My heart was racing, and my anxiety returned. Henry was going to get frustrated and start to
really kick. Then, what will happen? The man in front of me will complain to the flight attendant. I'll be publicly reprimanded over the PA system. I checked my watch. We were getting closer. I tried for the umpteenth time to lull Henry to sleep with gently rocking and shushing. He wasn't interested. He decided to pet my hair. That was
ok except
every time he reached for my hair, some of it fell out of my ponytail. Since I had to have both arms on him at all time to prevent his kicking towards the front and reaching towards the side (thank God we were not in the middle row!), I couldn't fix my ponytail. So, gradually, I developed the harried mom look with my hair sticking out in all directions and falling out of my messy ponytail. I gave Henry some snacks. Of course, I had stored the snack pack in the seat pocket at the beginning of the flight so I had to ease the snack pack from the seat pocket as slowly and carefully as possible lest I set off the passenger again. This maneuver was difficult to manage while simultaneously keeping Henry as far from the seat pocket as possible. Oh, and I did I mention that Henry loves to open and shut the seat back tray? I can only imagine what the passenger would have thought of the constant open and slamming of the tray so I was also trying to divert Henry's attention from that tab. After a bit of a snack, Henry started to settle in and I could feel him getting heavier in my arms. He turned to look out the window. We were now descending. The wheels dropped, we landed safely, and as we were taxing to the gate and everyone was checking their cell phone messages, Henry fell sound asleep.
During the entire second half of the flight (and since then), I obsessed over the man's scolding. I felt bad and, as usual, felt like I had an inadequate and completely unsatisfying response to the situation. Should I have apologized? Should I have tried to explain that my child wasn't actually kicking the seat and that I didn't even realize that the seat pocket could cause such disruption? Then, I got upset. Wasn't he being a little harsh? He made me feel awful. Did he even pause and consider his options before he turned around? I bet he didn't spend the rest of the flight (and beyond) obsessing about his comment.
I realized that the man was sitting in the exit row. The exit row. He volunteered to sit in the
exit row. Then, I got mad because, as a passenger, I take exit row responsibilities very seriously. When you request to be seated in an exit row, you are nominating yourself to be strong, cool, and selfless in an emergency. You are responsible for helping fellow passengers, who are mere strangers to you, find their way to safety.
Now I realized that I had to rely on this gentleman, the self-appointed action hero of my flight, to help me and my annoying child exit the plane safely and calmly in the event of an emergency. So I am supposed to believe that the person who was so disturbed by infrequent, gentle acupressure from a quiet, content one year old that he could not demonstrate one ounce of empathy, patience, or simple generosity of spirit (during the holiday season, no less!) was going to help me and my child off of the plane in an emergency? Right. How can I possibly trust a person who can't tolerate the slightest inconvenience to think of anyone but himself in an emergency?
At this point, I was (and still am!) silently fuming. I am smoldering with righteous indignation. But, ultimately, I am the one to blame. It is my child and therefore my responsibility that is causing the inconvenience. I try very hard to consider life from his position. Maybe he has a really sensitive back? Like, it is so sensitive that even the slightest pressure from the thumping of the elastic pocket is enough to cause excruciating waves of pain to travel through his spine. Maybe he is listening to self-hypnosis programs on his headphones? Perhaps his back is so tender and sensitive that he needs self-hypnosis and the extra leg room of an exit row just to endure a 1 hour and six minute flight? Wait a second ... Why does someone with such an extreme back condition and low pain threshold volunteer to sit in the exit row? I mean, you should at least have average to above average back strength to sit the exit row - don't you have to be able to lift 40 lbs?
Ok, back to righteous indignation.
I learned a lot from my solo traveling experience. I learned that even if your child is not kicking, throwing, screaming, whining, talking loudly, or fussing that he can still be really annoying to the person in front of you. I learned that writing a long blog entry is a great way for me to express those thoughts that I was thinking but wouldn't dare say in the heat of the moment. I learned that it is probably worth it to buy an extra seat and strap your kid into a car seat even for a short flight. I learned that those days of listening to my headphones while thumbing through a gossip magazine on a plane are long gone.
