Friday Night Flights

We left for our big adventure to Florida on Friday against the better judgment of my boss, my doctor, and myself.  My feet have been battling swelling, and I’m trying desperately not to be put on bed rest before the baby comes, but my Mom and Mom-in-Law, Jackie, were throwing me a big baby shower in Florida and there were all kinds of people coming to town for it.  There was no way I couldn’t be there.  So, Friday afternoon Chris and I left the dogs with our house sitter, threw our bags in the car, and headed to the airport.  We were leaving from Connecticut at 6:00 PM, stopping in Atlanta for a layover, and then continuing on to Pensacola, Florida, where we are from.

First, let me tell you about walking around an airport at eight months pregnant.  It was like I was walking around with an atomic missile strapped to my back.  People looked at me like I was going to explode any minute.  On normal days in normal places, pregnant women tend to get stares.  But usually they are the kind that are accompanied by a sweet, sympathetic smile and occasionally a remark about the baby.  Those are lovely stares.  They make me glow like a Glow Worm.

But in an airport, the stares are a little different.  The stares are a little more intense and you can almost hear the person thinking, “Oh, a pregnant woman.  That’s sweet.  Please, Lord, don’t let that woman be on my flight.”  No one wants to be stuck in a plane with a woman who spontaneously combusts and goes into labor.  I get that.  But the stares still made me a little uncomfortable.  Especially because I turned to Chris and whispered, “Do you see people staring at me?” and he responded, “Yes.  I think its because you are huge.”  He’s a keeper, that husband of mine.

The most comforting part of walking through the airport (and this isn’t saying much) was when the cashier at the little magazine shop asked me sweetly if this was my first baby.

“Yes,” I replied.  “Why?  Do I look nervous?”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” she said.  “They just shoot right out of you, Sweetheart.”

Aw, gee.  I feel better now.

Once I boarded the plane, things got better.  Flight attendants love pregnant ladies!  They fawned all over me!  I even got THREE packets of peanuts!  Those flight attendants were putty in my hands.  Putty in my hands.

About an hour into the three hour flight, we started to go through some pretty intense turbulence and so the Captain turned on the fasten seat belts sign.  If you want to know a pregnant woman’s hell, it is the fasten seat belts sign.  With that one little sign, you are confined to your seat.  No more standing up to dislodge the baby from the depths of your rib cage.  No more walking the aisles to keep your feet from expanding past the carry on luggage limit.  No more bathroom breaks.

FOR TWO HOURS, PEOPLE!  TWO HOURS!

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, about an hour outside of Atlanta, the pilot comes over the intercom and announces that due to bad weather, our flight has been diverted to Knoxville, Tennessee, where we will refuel and sit on the runway for a while and wait for the weather to pass.  Do you know how long it takes weather to pass?  I do.  It takes five hours and 36 minutes.  I know this because that is how long we sat in the plane at the Knoxville airport.  We were able to get up and walk around because we weren’t on the runway, but there were so many people standing up that you couldn’t really move.  And the bathrooms didn’t work because the plane was off.  And the flight attendants had nothing to give us but tiny bottles of water.

FOR FIVE HOURS, PEOPLE!  FIVE HOURS!

I cried only once.  And it wasn’t even crying.  It was more like whining with tears.  Chris, however, may or may not have cried multiple times.  But I can’t be sure because he was doing his best to stay as far away from me as possible.  Smart man.  I was not a happy passenger.

By the time our flight continued on and arrived in Atlanta, it was close to 1:00 AM and our flight to Pensacola had been canceled.  So, we headed off to the hotel airport where we slept for three hours before we had to get up and get back to the terminal for our 7:30 AM flight.

When we got to the hotel, I was tired and grumpy and needed to shower, but mostly I was hungry.  We hadn’t eaten anything since my three packets of peanuts about six hours ago.  So, Chris gallantly offered to go out and rustle me up some grub.  And at 1:00 AM in downtown Atlanta, that’s saying a lot.  He headed across the street (and by “street” I mean six lanes of traffic) to a McDonald’s only to find the lobby wasn’t serving food.  But the drive thru was open.  So my brave husband stands in line at the drive thru without a car and walks up to the window to order some food for me.  Chivalry comes in many forms, ladies.

The next morning we made it out to Pensacola and arrived by 8:00 that morning.  We basically just picked up the rest of our day as if nothing had happened.  I had a salon date with the ladies in my family to have manicures and pedicures, and Chris headed out to the golf course with all the boys.  It was a great morning, but not as great as what would happen later that afternoon…

Stay tuned!