Where we've been.

Most recently, I have been recovering from the most hellacious flight back from UT. We got back on Thursday and I still wake up at night in a cold sweat thinking I might kill my child before we land. Let me paint you a picture:

I board the plane with an overly-tired, teething child to find myself assigned a window seat in the center of the plane. Already I know that no good can come from this. We are still at the gate and she has already managed to pull out everything from my seat pocket, my neighbor's seat pocket, and my diaper bag and throw it all over the two by two foot space we are inhabiting. Since that is clearly no longer keeping her entertained, my go-to becomes food. It is like magic--it will always calm her down. Apparently, however, when you let your child stuff herself with Goldfish and milk at an alarming rate, she will throw up.

My one real question in this scenario is why my first instinct when I realize she is about to barf, is to stick my hand under her mouth and catch the throw-up? Really, what reason would a sane individual think catching throw-up in your hand is a great idea? As soon as this happens, I have my neighbor push the call button and the flight attendant comes down the aisle to tell me that "no, she can't get me any napkins because we are just minutes away from taking off." My response was seriously "Oh, ok, I guess I can just hold this barf in my hand for twenty minutes." As we didn't even take off for another ten to fifteen minutes, I am seriously considering suing Delta.

So, now I am wrestling with Britta one-handed because I am desperately trying to keep a handle on the barf in my other hand when she decides that she wants nothing more in the world than to play with/eat the barf I am holding. Truly, truly disgusting. Pretty soon this turns into an all-out meltdown like I have never witnessed from my child before. She is screaming, flailing, kicking--the works. I am sitting there like an idiot apologizing to my neighbors, because in reality "my child never does this." She finally wears herself out after about fifteen minutes when I can finally secure some napkins and clean off my hand.

The rest of the flight is just a blur of up and down in the aisle, trying everything in my power to calm her down or lull her to sleep. I finally resorted to feeding her chocolate and effectively ruining the white blouse I was wearing. But, hey, it kept her quiet for about ten minutes.

All in all, I think we are going on an airplane fast for a while.