50 Kind Words

“Good morning folks, this is your captain speaking. Our estimated time of arrival in Sacramento is 11:40 am local time. We may experience some slight turbulence on today’s flight, so please keep your seatbelts fastened…”

My heartbeat sped up and my palms went clammy. I wasn’t scared about the potentially bumpy ride, or the threatening storm clouds that loomed outside the windows.

No, what had me worried most was the tiny tot situated on my lap.

Just over a year old, my daughter is what most people would call “a handful.” Don’t get me wrong, she’s the love of my life. I couldn’t imagine going a day without seeing her giant blue eyes or wild curly hair - but I had been dreading this flight. It was my first time flying with her (or any baby for that matter) and I had no idea what to expect. At this moment she was squirming impatiently and swatting at the window. No tears yet.

I glanced around nervously. Of course the plane had to be at max capacity. I had been hoping that by some miracle the seat next to us would be empty, but no. In the middle seat sat an older woman, who I could tell was eyeing me just like I was eyeing her. Part of me felt like saying sorry in advance. I could feel the words bubbling up in my throat. The “forgive any unpleasantness my child may cause” forewarning, but I held my tongue. I thought of what my mother had told me before we left for the trip: “Don’t apologize for things that are out of your control.” So I didn’t.

As we continued our ascent, my little miss began pawing at her ears and whimpering. “Oh no,” I muttered under my breath. I rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. “It’s okay baby,” I said. But it wasn’t. Her whimpers became cries, cries became sobs, and before I knew it my precious angel was thrashing around in my lap like something unholy. I did everything I could think of to calm her.

“Shhh, shhhhhhh, don’t worry sweetheart, Mama’s here.”

I was trying to keep my cool, but really I was panicking. What must these people think of me? That I was a terrible mother? That I couldn’t comfort my own child? But why should I care what they think? My daughter is in pain, and I’m worried about how it looks? I’m doing the best I can!

And so went the warring inner dialogue that came every time situations like these popped up. When my sweet baby was losing it in public, I felt completely incompetent. Like I had no control.

Finally, finally, the crying ceased, and my daughter fell fast asleep in my arms. It’s funny how it’s like that with babies. One minute everything is ending, the next, all is well with the world. My shoulders sagged in relief, and I leaned back onto the headrest. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on maybe catching a few winks, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Ms. Middle Seat was turned towards me, smiling apologetically.

“I’m sorry, but could you help me figure out this darn T.V.? I’m afraid I can’t see the remote buttons very well, and I’d like to turn it off.”

I returned her smile and told her, “Of course,” in my warmest voice. I looked down at the little remote embedded in the armrest, and pressed the tiny power button. She thanked me, I nodded, and returned to my resting position. The woman wasn’t through with me though.

“So dear, are you from Sacramento?”

Her question caught me off guard. “ n-No, I’m not,” I stuttered, “We’re actually going to visit my boyfriend.”

“Oh…and is he her father?”

She motioned to my daughter still sleeping in my arms. My cheeks started warming up, and I could feel myself turning bright red. I never understood why people thought it was okay to ask this question. “No. He’s not,” I replied brusquely, turning back towards the window. I knew my response was rude, but so was her question, and I didn’t feel like explaining my life to a stranger. We sat in silence for a while, when the intercom dinged:

“Ladies and gentleman, we’re about to experience some turbulence. I’ll ask the flight attendants to return to their seats, and again, please stay seated and keep seatbelts fastened.”

Almost as soon as the captain finished speaking, the plane jolted, as if to punctuate his announcement. A few people let out gasps, and one little girl shrieked. I instinctively tightened the hold I had on my daughter and silently prayed that she’d stay asleep through the commotion. No such luck. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked around with eyebrows raised in confusion. Then she let out a piercing “waaaaaaaaaaahhhhh.”

I had thought the fit earlier was bad, but it was nothing compared to this. She was screaming and gasping between sobs. Her little feet pushed off the seat in front of us and her back arched in frustration. I felt hopeless and so alone. Nothing I could do or say would make her understand that I understood. That I knew her tiny ears hurt. That she was sick of being in my lap and tired from waking up too early to get to the airport on time. That she was probably hungry and her diaper was wet, and everything was just horribly wrong.

I felt another tap from the woman next to me. I knew what was coming, a passive aggressive, “Gosh she sure is loud, isn’t she?” or a “Is there any way you could quiet her down?” I didn’t have the patience for that right now. “What?!” I snapped at her.

“Dear,” she started, “I’m very sorry if I offended you earlier. I only asked because I was a single mother myself, and I know how hard it is in times like these. I wanted to tell you that you are doing a wonderful job. If I can help, please let me know ”

And just like that, I didn’t feel so alone.