You know those people on the plane – the ones with crying/screaming kids, and the ones you either, depending on your mood and your thoughts on babies, really feel sorry for or really hate? Well, we were those people last Friday. I didn’t mention it in my previous posts on Chicago, but the first part of our return trip was pretty rough. Zoe, who historically has had no problems on plane rides, spent a solid 45 minutes crying – and there was nothing we could do to stop her. Because our plane was on the runway being de-iced, we weren’t allowed to get up from our seats, and all we could do was sit there and try to calm her down with singing, talking and light rocking. Nothing worked – not even multiple offers of snacks – and I thought I was going to explode from stress when Zoe finally passed out in my arms. I’ve never been so happy to hear… nothing.

Q, of course, was a cool cucumber throughout the ordeal – and I was anything but. (Talk about ying and yang.) I’ve never felt so helpless and hopeless as a parent, and 45 minutes of crying pretty much felt like 45 hours to me. I told Q more than once on the plane, “I’m never flying again.”

Now that it’s been a few days, I have some perspective. As Q would point out, so Zoe cried for awhile – big deal! The crying-child-on-a-plane thing happens to most every parent, and it will probably happen to us again. (And yes, I DO plan on flying again.) But still… I’m glad to be on the ground. And I will never shoot a dirty look to the parent of a screaming child again.

-M