We flew to California to be with our west coast family for Thanksgiving this year. It’s the second time Abe’s been to LA, but the first time he’s traveled anywhere after he could walk. (Did I mention he can walk now?) We were a little concerned about being those people on the plane. The ones with the screaming kid that everyone stares and shakes their heads at.
The first flight (only about an hour and a half) proved to be a little bit trying. Lots of screeching and squirming and crying. A woman in the row next to us CONTINUALLY asked us if we would like some Fruit Loops for him.
Approximately every 10 minutes:
“Would he like some cereal?”
“Are you sure he doesn’t want any of this?”
*Points at Toucan on box*
“Maybe he’s just hungry?”
Yes lady I don’t know on a plane, I’d like to feed my son a cereal made of pure sugar to help him calm down. You obviously have kids.
However, the second flight was amazing. Abraham sat in his own seat for all four hours, happily playing with the little toys I brought along, eating snacks, and watching Baby Einstein. (Dear Lord, God, and Baby Jesus, thank you for Baby Einstein.) In fact, I stared knowingly at those people on the plane 3 rows behind us. I feel your pain, parents. And I’m so glad we’re not you.
It took about 3 days for the child to adjust to pacific time, but once he did it was smooth sailing. Until Thanksgiving Day.
While he took a few steps on the pavement in the backyard, he stepped on his own pant leg. Daddy, trying to be helpful, grabbed the waist of Abe’s pants to pull them up, somehow creating a perfect see-saw out of my son. His face smashed directly into the pavement, manifesting the loudest, but heartbreaking scream I’ve ever heard. I ran outside to find my husband bewildered and my son with blood pouring out of his mouth. Am I exaggerating? Not really. It was pretty much pouring out of his mouth.
And while blood poured from his mouth, there are a lot of words that came pouring from my mouth. Words I won’t type or possibly ever repeat. By the time the bleeding stopped and the now-ruined Thanksgiving Day outfit was stripped from his body, I’d spouted so much profanity and creative ways of using the lord’s name in vain that everyone in the house slowly and silently backed away from me one step at a time like I was a very small but fierce bear in the wilderness. And that little lip puffed up to the size of a manicotti shell stuff with ricotta.
It was only a day later that Abraham snuck up on one of the dogs. No, the dog didn’t bite Abe. The dog just startled and huffed. My friend quickly reacted to keep a possibly volatile situation stable by putting her hand between Abe and the dog, catching Abe’s check with her nail in the process. Remember the heartbreaking scream? It’s back. Not as much cursing this time. I felt a little wiser as the mother of a boy bleeding twice in 3 days. Just some Neosporin and a bottle.
So here he is, fat lip and scratched face. If you’re on our Christmas card list, you may get yours a little late this year. Our family picture day has been pushed back until further notice.