Sandwiched between Danika and a man reading a yellow book, I'm silently plotting my escape. We're at 10,000 feet just a few minutes into the flight and it's ok for everyone to turn on their iPods now, but standing up? NO! That is still forbidden. My tummy is rumbling. Ohhhh green chili you were soooo very delicious on the way in. Why are you trying to kill me now? My face is sweating...maybe if I hold onto the armrest a little tighter the cramps will go away. Why the f*ck is that g*d damned seat belt sign still on? I can't see the ground anymore, we are high enough! Come on!!!
Sitting next to a 6 year old in the tiny confines of an airplane requires a bit of patience. Danika's 8 X 11 tray table is covered with drawing paper, crayons, hot chocolate, a tortilla, a pen and a hashbrown. With predictable frequency something falls to the floor and the pile on her tray table quickly becomes the pile on my tray table. Up goes her tray and in a flash she's on the floor retrieving a wayward crayon.
I've been holding the hot chocolate steady on Danika's tray for 20 minutes and I know it's coming, I just don't know when. A notebook slips off the tray, I pick up the drink, Danika rushes to the floor, grabs the notebook, pops back up and elbows the hot chocolate and there it is folks. First spill of the day, all over the paper I'm currently writing on. The child is oblivious. Up and down she goes until I finally ask, "How many more times do you think you'll be doing that, sweetie?" Her response..."Depends on how much stuff I drop, Mom!" Oh well...duhhhhh!!!
Meanwhile, the sign is still on. "Keep your seat belts fastened, you are not free to move about the cabin." Look, I don't want to move about the cabin, I want to SIT about the bathroom. Please? My tummy has the rumblies. I'm dying here, y'all, if Danika bumps me ONE.MORE.TIME it's gonna be a green chili egg explosion. I swear!
The flight attendant whizzes by for the 8th time and I'm starting to get annoyed. Apparently she has super standing up powers on this flight. I call out to her, "Is it ok if I take her to the bathroom?" Using the child to get a little sympathy... (The man next to me with the yellow book is looking at my paper. Hi man with yellow book. Blink twice if you can see this. No? Ok, fine, I was just trying to be funny. You can ignore me if you want, you killjoy!) The flight attendant informs me with great inflection in her voice that she cannot GIVE me permission to use the lavatory while the ever present seat belt sign is on, but sometimes you have to DO what you have to DO. Oh realllly??? That sortaaaaa sounds like permission to me!
Woo hoo! Mama's goin potty! Yessssss!!!! Let's go! I'm gonna run RUN back there, stomach cramps be damned, I have a secret rendez vous with a barbie sized potty! And then...the light flickers off. And I'm free to move about the cabin...and so is everyone else. The aisle quickly fills and there I am. DEAD LAST. Noooooooooo!!!!! Randomly, Danika asks, "Mom, how many more seconds til we get to Flooooridaaaa???" And she expects an accurate answer. Before I can multiply up an answer for her she wails, moooommmm I'm hungry! I take a mental inventory and wonder how this is remotely possible. Six year old child plus ziploc baggie of cocoa puffs, plus egg McMuffin, plus hashbrown, plus orange juice, plus airplane bag of cookies, plus hot chocolate and nutty bar all in a span of less than 5 hours and THAT equals hungry?
And finally...it's my turn to "go." I don't think I really even need to anymore. I take my place on the tiny throne and all I hear is trickle-trickle-trickle! Really? I had to pee sooo bad! Full bladder! FULL! I ate MEXICAN food for craps sake! And that's it??? Trickle? I'm starting to think my stomach is a bit of a drama queen!
And back to my seat I go just in time for another round of "I dropped my crayon" and "Mommy I spilled" and other exciting in flight games.
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