I wrote this on the plane yesterday on my way to Florida. It ends quite abruptly as that dreaded announcement to stow your crap immediately or we’ll have the Federal Agent meet you at the gate scared me enough to stop typing. I didn’t really feel it needed any more, but if you think it does, let me know and I can tell you the rest of my story…

I always try to maintain a positive outlook on everything when I travel. I desperately try not to be the pessimist I was raised as and immediately think that the second some thing goes wrong, no matter how small, it’s going to sent the tone for my entire experience as a traveler for this trip.

Pregnant, I’ve noticed that these small things are enough to send me into panic like I’ve never quite experienced before. I’m a worrier to begin with, but since carrying this child and being 100% responsible for nurturing and comforting and growing a person whose future is capable of holding an Ivy League education (if this baby is as smart as its old man) and/or a major acting career (if it inherits any of it’s mother’s ability to create massive amounts of drama), I’ve become a worrier x 1000.

To be honest, I was slightly panicked about traveling solo as it was. I’ve traveled alone a million and a half times. I’ve always marveled at myself and my ability to keep all my shit organized, to not get flustered when I have to take my wallet apart six times to show my ID, to wear bras without underwire, shoes without laces, clothes without buttons, and my hair down to avoid any metal clip possibilities. I’ve had some horrendous traveling experiences, but it doesn’t stop me from flying. It doesn’t stop me from bitching about it either.

However, my husband can be held 100% responsible for spoiling me. He spoils me all the time, but I’ve been extra spoiled (if that’s even possible) during the four months that I’ve been carrying his child. I lift nothing. Ever. He takes care of transportation to and from the airport. He provides the shoulder in which I sleep on during the trip so that I don’t throw up from motion sickness. He calmly and patiently sits in the middle seat so that I can have the window and we can still sit together. I’m starting to win the armrest battle (Can’t we leave it up so it doesn’t poke me in the ribs? Puhleeeeeese?), but I don’t think it’s because he’s getting used to not having it down. It’s more that he’s so sick of my INCESSANT AND OBNOXIOUS WHINING ALREADY!

Today I had to tackle it all alone. Thankfully I remembered on Monday to call my sister for a ride to the airport. I haven’t remembered to do much at all lately. In fact I’ve been meaning to call the cleaning lady for about two-and-a-half weeks now. I guess I’m waiting for my foot to actually stick hard enough to the kitchen floor that my sock remains when I walk away. We can’t be that far from that day, really.

I got to the airport and there was no line at all for the check-in counter. This was certainly a good sign of things to come. I walked right up and while I had hoped I wouldn’t have to check anything, I was prepared to be told to do so as you can never be too sure about anything when it comes to air travel these days. I showed my ID, told the nice man my destination and before I could start my, “I’m pregnant and miserable. Please pity me with an upgrade.” speech, he had my boarding pass printed and I was walking away from the counter knowing I had forgotten to do something. Oh well. I would have to make peace with Seat 26F.

I stopped in the closest bathroom, roughly ten feet from the check-in counter, to pee. As I was exiting the stall I heard an announcement regarding my flight saying that there were Business Class upgrades available for $60. No brainer. I quickly washed my hands and ran out to the check-in area again. And that’s when I saw…

… The line 30+ people deep.

I told myself that if I was meant to be upgraded, it wouldn’t matter that I had to stand in line. I couldn’t be that rude person that jumped in front of these nice families and couples that were waiting patiently.

By the time I reached the counter, I was told there was ONE seat left. “Quick!”, I told her, “Book it!” She hit two keys on her keyboard and looked up at me, “I’m sorry. Someone else must be booking it from another kiosk. It won’t let me do it.”

I missed the comfy seat and unlimited chocolate chip cookies by mere seconds.

She was able to move me up to 12F and I took this as my best case scenario and headed over to the security area mumbling to myself about being a moron and not asking about upgrades when I first walked into the building. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The security line in this teeny, 10 flights out a day, typically business traveler airport took thirty-five minutes to get through. As I stood there downing my water as if it were the last sip I’d ever get, I heard the woman on the phone behind me telling her husband over the phone about how they had agreed to let her on the plane, but she’d have to go through extra security. She totally had my attention at that point and I eavesdropped the rest of her conversation. Her wallet had been stolen and she had no ID, no credit cards, no cash and no way of getting cash. I suddenly had perspective. I missed my upgrade by a few seconds. So what. This woman had been through hell in the last hour. She kept saying to her husband, “I just want to get home. Please just let me get home.” I almost cried for her.

I got bumped and bruised by a couple of aggressive travelers on my way through the metal detectors. I wished EHH was with me. My suitcase was heavier than I thought. My shoulders hurt from my backpack and just when I went to lift my suitcase onto the belt, some jackass behind me dropped his empty plastic bin down in the exact spot I was planning to put my bag causing me to hold it up in the air in a very awkward position. I sighed and looked up helplessly just as a pilot swooped in, grabbed my bag from me and helped set it on the belt. Even with his permission to cut everyone in line, he took the time to help me; renewing my faith in some people right when I was ready to turn into the defensive bitch I’m capable of being and embracing my Every Man, Woman, and Child for Themselves attitude. The pilot and I were next to each other again on the other side of the metal detector. While the rude guy was within ear shot and I stood there clutching my corduroy jacket and Chucks in my hand hoping to get out of the way before being trampled, he said to me, “People can really, just suck. I hope you have a good flight.”

Thinking we just might have karma by the balls at this point, I took a seat in the newly designed waiting area which was better than the piece of carpet I’ve been known to camp on before in this same room. I called EHH whining and miserable and told him what I had just been through. He let me commiserate until my flight was called for boarding and we had to hang up.

I patiently waited for my row to be called and then headed down the long hallway to the Jetway – to where the jetway should be. There was an open door in front of me leading outside, down stairs, and ACROSS THE TARMAC, to the plane. The plane that had an entire flight of stairs leading up to its door.

I cursed. Out loud. At this point fully admitting to myself that it would’ve been a lot easier if I had checked this stupid bag. The line of passengers was backed up down the steps and about fifteen people back on the ground. The air stunk of fuel. The wind was whipping straight at my face and the temperature was barely above freezing.

“Stay positive”, I told myself. “It could be worse. It could always be worse. It could be raining. Snowing even. Don’t let this get in your head and cause worse things to happen.”

I found my seat and set up camp. iPod and Book within reach. Big bag in the overhead compartment. Backpack shoved under the seat incase of emergency laptop needs or desperation for stowed Three Musketeers. I settled into my seat and waited to see who’d be lucky enough to sit next to the pregnant woman who doesn’t go longer than forty minutes without having to pee.

My luck officially began to change. A woman sat down next to me which immediately told me perhaps sympathy would be on my side. I quickly introduced myself as Four Months Pregnant And Most Likely Needing to Pee Multiple Times During The Flight.

“Aw. Congratulations,” she said. “I’m just leaving my daughter. She’s seven months pregnant! Is this your first?” I told her yes. So is her daughter’s. We chatted for a bit until we taxied for take-off. I found out her daughter lives a couple towns over from me, is a teacher, an only-child, and they’re having a boy. The name they’re considering is on our short list. She’s planning on being there for the birth. It was such a comfort knowing I’d have her understanding on my side.

I’ve only disrupted her conversation with the seat stranger on the other side of her twice to pee. We have about 40 minutes left of the flight and I should be okay for the rest of it as the cranberry juice they gave me was far too sweet to enjoy and the full cup sits mere centimeters from the laptop (don’t tell work).

Overall, once I got on this plane, it’s been an uneventful and rather enjoyable flight. One confession: I went through all my work email and answered quite of few of them. It will require me logging in once I can access WiFi so they can all actually send. I guess instead of saying I had to log in for work reasons, I’ll say I had to log in to post this entry.

It’s all about perception anyway…

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