Journey to the Land of Queso and Endless Clean Towels

Hooray, we're in Dallas! In the spirit of what-else-is-maternity-leave-for, I have come to stay with my parents for an indulgent five weeks (!!) of free baby care and endless clean towels. Sadly, Nava and I had to leave daddy behind because he has to work. Sad face. He'll join us for Christmas though! 

At DFW airport. Nava adorable as ever,
Mama Noms looking like someone smacked her
with one of those supersize packages of wine gums.

The baby is too young to make real trouble, but I was still apprehensive about the flight. And by apprehensive I mean I was terrified. 

The main reason was that I was certain we would crash. I am always certain that my plane is going to crash and certain of my certainty because I am clairvoyant. I'm only clairvoyant right before I fly, of course. I discover this talent anew every time, and it never fails to bum me out that a soothsayer like me is about to be extinguished.This time I was extra bummed because Nava was going to come crashing down with me and it was going to be all my fault. 

As usual, I considered changing flights, but again, as usual, I didn't. I've seen Final Destination. I'm not stupid. 

Secondly, if we survived take-off, I was concerned that the baby would scream and carry on to the point that our fellow passengers might just open the hatch and throw us into the Gulf Stream. For that reason, I spent several hours (no, seriously) curating the selection of toys and books that I'd take with me.  I also got a bunch of these ingratiating little goody-bags ready for the passengers in our immediate vicinity. My friend Florence saw these on Facebook somewhere and told me about it, and I'm never one to miss an opportunity to suck up to strangers.

For our wretched seat mates. Except our flight companions this time just weren't wretched enough.

Except once we boarded the flight, I didn't use them. Here's why: My dad, who bought my ticket with miles, got us a business class seat on the way to Dallas. As a faithful member of the economy class, taking an overnight flight in a seat that reclines completely was a revelation. I imagine this is how swine herders in the late Middle Ages felt when they finally hobbled out of their plague-infested hamlets and into the big city and saw, for the first time, the Gothic cathedral whose stony spire pierced the heavens and which had been constructed off their breaking, dead-by-30 backs: A combination of divine inspiration and thorough revulsion. Revulsion not because cathedrals are revolting, but because the existence of cathedrals reminds you that there is no need for your hovel to be so unnecessarily shit. 

The seat next to us was empty and the row behind us was empty. So we were ten feet from the nearest passengers, all of whom were well-dressed and good looking and started drinking gratis gin & tonics before we even took off. They were all really nice. Why wouldn't they be? 

That's when I decided these people didn't need my candy. First of all, they had an ice cream sundae bar. Secondly, they could get their own free ear plugs. Lastly, they were fortified by their own inherent superiority. Not sense of superiority. Actual superiority. Most of all, I was too busy making Nava giggle by putting our magic seat into silly configurations. Nava behaved like an angel. Who wouldn't, if they lived in a cathedral? 

So yeah. I didn't hand out the candy. When we fly back to Vienna it will be in cattle class, where everyone drinks tomato juice just to feel like they're having a special time. I'm saving my little care packages for the poor fuckers who have to cosy up next to us then. 

People who need ear plugs and candy. 

Now I'm off to try and take a nap. You know what is no good? Babies with jet lag who are unhappy to be in a strange new house. Also I drank my weight in queso last night and am feeling about like you'd expect. Blurgh. 

Hope you're having a happy hump day!