Flying (With Children)

If you really knew me, then you would know how much I hate flying. This irrational fear has only gotten worse as I have gotten older.

The last time we flew was over a year ago-- to Todd's sister's wedding in San Diego. Rocco was a little over a year old. I then realized what was worse than flying with an irrational fear of flying: putting my child on an death trap airplane with the irrational fear of it crashing into smithereens. I silently cried during take off-- big, fat tears rolled down my cheeks. The woman sitting next to me looked at me like I was a crazy person. Rocco said, "It's okay, Mama." He wasn't phased one bit. I guess I was the bigger baby that day than my one-year-old.

To make my anxiety levels even worse is having to endure the judgmental stares from non-parents who are also flying alongside us. "Make that kid shut up!" they silently scream at the backs of our heads. "Can't that kid sit still?" their eyes question as I pull out every toy, book, snack, sippy cup, you name it to try to sidetrack my child and keep him preoccupied.

Sigh.

Believe me, we want our child to sit quietly and peacefully just as much as you do-- if not more. There's a lot of pressure on us-- and our kid. It makes flying incredibly more horrible than it already is. Believe me when I say that it is extremely difficult for someone like me-- who is already terrified while sitting on a plane-- to try to deal with an unhappy child.

In one week from now, we will be loading a plane to San Diego again. This time with two children. Double the carry-ons. Double the luggage. Double the anxiety. Double the judgmental stares...

...and make it a double shot in my pre-flight cocktail.