We get into the bathroom, and I hurry down to the end wall where the baby diaper-changing contraption thing is. I search around for a wad of paper towels and pull the greasy plastic McDonald's-tray-like diaper table down. I shimmy the changing pad out of my bag and whip it out like a pro while hanging onto my twenty-eight pounder. I place Connor down on the pad while he's playfully trying to scalp me with his fingernails that I forgot to cut. "Let go of my hair, buddy." I say in baby talk, wishing I felt as cheerful as I sound.
He's laughing like I just said the funniest thing in the world, and I almost laugh until I hear, "Final boarding call for—" And...a toilet flushes, followed by another three, and I miss the whole goddamn message. What if that's our flight! Jake's probably pacing outside of the bathroom looking at the time on his watch every two seconds. I pull Connor's diaper off and quickly exchange it for a clean diaper, knowing how great he is at peeing all over me the second the cool air hits his bare skin. Not this time, little man.
I have him wrapped up and clothed in less than a minute while grabbing the changing pad and running for the exit.
Dripping with sweat, imagining the rat's nest my curly hair has turned into, I see Jake casually seated on one of the chairs in front of the gate, reading something on his phone. I guess it wasn't the final boarding call for our flight. Lovely…
When Jake sees me struggling out of the bathroom, he rushes over to grab Connor from my arms. "Are you okay, honey? You look like you just ran a marathon," he says through laughter.
"It's gross in there, and I didn't want him to touch anything. Plus, I thought I heard final boarding."
"Yes, for Seattle, not Orlando."
"Zone F, you may now board the plane. Please have your boarding passes out," the flight attendant announces.
Jake drops Connor down in his umbrella stroller, and we push forward as I dig for the tickets that are in one of the twenty compartments I have on the outside of my carry-on. Shit! Where did I put them? A wave of frantic nerves storms through me as I immediately make the assumption that I lost our boarding passes. "Jake, I can't find the tickets. Oh my God, stop, stop, stop! I don't know what happened to them. They were here just a minute ago. Oh no, what if someone took them? How are we going to get on the plane?" I say, sounding a bit insane.
"Babe, Jenn, sweetheart, love of my life, you need to chill out." He holds up the tickets. You gave them to me as you were heading into the bathroom with Connor.
We continue on and hand our boarding passes to the attendant, watching as she inspects them very carefully for like a minute longer than she's checked anyone else's tickets. What is the problem, lady? Come on. She leans over to her little booth, grabs a strip of paper and peels the backing off of it before strapping it to the handle of the stroller. "What's that for? Why are you tagging it?" I sound like a complete nutcase, but seriously, is she planning to lose my child?
"You can't bring the stroller to your seat, ma'am. We need to gate check that. It will be waiting for you when you depart the plane, though.”
What was I thinking? Of course, we can't bring this onto the plane. I've flown before…like a million times before. I'm pretty sure I've never seen a stroller on the plane. Why didn't this cross my mind at any point?
I take Connor out of the stroller and hoist him on my hip as I sling the baby bag onto my other hip, curious why she didn't put me through the ringer for having a bag that's probably too big. Thankfully, at least I got away with that.
I follow Jake, who has our regular carry-on, down the long ramp until we stop in front of the plane's entrance where others are still boarding. After a short minute, we step over the small threshold that has a wide opening, letting us stare down the thirty feet of air separating us from the pavement. Nice, maybe they could seal this up a little bit. God.
As we step onto the plane, the flight attendant greets us with a big botox-lipped smile, lined with extra-bright red lipstick, which is also smudged across her two front teeth. She must be well-liked around here. "Welcome," she says. "Who is this cute little guy?"
As if she asked Connor to show her how loud he can be, he starts screaming. Like for no reason. He's not even a big screamer. As a matter of fact, he hardly cried as a small baby. What is going on? "Connor, are you okay, buddy? What's wrong?" Maybe he didn't like the lipstick on the flight attendant’s teeth since he's staring at her, still crying as real tears stream down his cheeks. So weird.
We move quickly to our seats, hiding our faces so no one knows who the screaming child belongs too. I bought a hundred-dollars-worth of books and little toys for him to play with to avoid being those people on a plane with that baby. I’m seriously hoping that investment pays off, but right now, I’m not feeling very confident.
Of course, everyone is already staring at us. The eyes are rolling, and people are pulling out their headphones. I apologize to everyone I pass when we get closer to our seats, but no one says, "Hey, it's okay, we've been there. He's probably just a little scared." I know what they’re thinking because before kids, I used to be one of them.
Thankfully, it's just the three of us in one row. Oh wait, I forgot, we only have two seats because Connor is sitting on my lap. The airline agents at the gate announced that our flight is full. That means someone will be sitting at the end of our tight row. Since it seemed we were the last people to get on the plane, I'll just hope that our full flight is filled by minus one seat.
I settle into my seat, cuddling Connor, who has chosen to stop crying now that he found my phone in one of the baby bag pockets. I take in a deep breath and lean my head back, closing my eyes for a minute. What an ordeal.
Jake puts his seatbelt on and places his hand on my knee. "We made it," he says.
"Don't say that yet," I tell him.
"Knock it off, Debbie Downer. We're going to the most wonderful place on earth, be happy."
I force a smile as I keep my eyes closed. "Happy…see?" I point to my mouth.
"You're a pain in the butt. It's a good thing I love you."
"I know," I tell him. I'm probably more of a handful than Connor is. I've come to terms with it. Anxiety can make a grown woman act like a two-year-old having a constant tantrum.
Stomping feet make the plane bounce around a bit, and the sound is growing closer. We're literally in the back row of the plane. Great…our chairs don't go back, but the chairs in front of us do. Who would voluntarily choose this one empty seat? I open my eyes and see this guy who's wearing a suit, an expensive-looking suit, running with his laptop in hand as he drops down into the seat next to Jake. "Phew, almost missed it," he says.
Ech, I smell body odor or feet…something gross. How long has this guy been traveling today? He plops open his drop-down tray and opens his laptop up to a spreadsheet.
I feel like I read a story about this once: the businessman, the anxious woman, and a baby. Nope, on second thought, I never read that one. Sounds boring.
I blow the air out of my pursed lips, trying my hardest to relax, but it's just not working.
"Do you think they'd judge me if I ordered a glass of wine or just a few nips of tequila?" I ask Jake.
"Probably, but I'd high-five you if it's any consolation."
"No, it's not, but thanks anyway."
"Please put all electronic devices away as we are preparing to depart from the gate," the flight attendant announces.
I take my phone carefully out of Connor's hands, ready to replace it with a book and his toy cell phone that I've had smashed between my thigh and the wall beneath the window. "Can you call mommy?" I ask him as I slip my phone into my pocket.
He looks at me like I just took his one meal of the day away. The quiver in his lip starts, and I know what is about to happen. I swear to God, you have to be kidding me. "Connor, look, look at this new book I got for you. You love Winnie the Pooh!"
The cry starts as a quiet whine, and I'd love to break every rule and give him the damn phone back, especially seeing as this moron sitting beside
me can't put his laptop away. He's probably not a jackass, but right now, he is because he gets to have his entertainment out and Connor doesn't. My two-year-old needs technology more than he does.
The flight attendant makes her last round down the aisle, checking everyone's seat belts and enforcing the no-technology rule. "Sir, you're going to need to place your laptop away until we are in the air."
Ha ha, you got in trouble. That's what you get for not following rules. "Sure thing," the businessman says, casually. "Can you also bring me a gin and tonic?" He hands the woman a twenty and winks at her.
"Of course, sir, we'll bring that out as soon as we're free to move around the cabin."
As if Connor is offended by this one flight attendant, he decides now is the time to turn his whining into a full-blown crying fit again, for the second time in twenty minutes.
The businessman looks over at us and reaches his finger out toward Connor. Instinctively, I wrap my arm around Connor, not wanting this stinky man's finger anywhere near his cheeks. "Cuchi cuchi coo," he says like a weirdo.
Connor, of course, screams louder because a stranger tried to talk to him. That's a big fat no here in the land of twenty-three months old. "Yikes, are you going to be able to quiet him down?" the jackass asks.
Jake clears his throat and smiles, that smile I'd be scared of if he looked at me the way he's looking at the man. "We’ll do what we can, but we don't have much control over our baby crying, so I guess it's up to fate now, huh?"
"Right," the guy says to Jake. As the engine rumbles to life and the wheels start turning, Connor thankfully calms down and rests his head against my chest, sighing as if he's giving up the fight. What the fight is, I don't know.
"There, he's okay," I tell Jake, hoping I’m right.
"Good thing we didn't give him Benadryl. Right, Babe?" Jake mocks me.
I look at him blankly for a minute. "I may have given him a little," I mutter.
"You horrible, horrible mother, you," he says, laughing. "I thought it was bad parenting to do such a terrible thing as that?"
"Shush," I tell him.
"He'll probably be asleep in minutes," Jake says.
I try to breathe calmly in and out several times in fear of making a scene. I hate giving Connor anything that isn't necessary, but I didn't know which would be worse...Connor awake during turbulence, or in a Benadryl coma. I'd rather be knocked out instead of enduring turbulence though, so there we have it.
"Bankie?" Connor asks.
I reach around him and pull his blanket out of the bag and hand it to him, wrapping him up snugly. "Do you want to go night-night?" I ask him.
His eyelids start to close as he nuzzles his head into me.
"Told you," Jake says.
"Great prediction, smarty," I jest.
"It's fine; you can tell me I'm right, later."
"Don't count on it," I argue.
Connor has been asleep for a full ninety minutes, making it halfway to Florida without a peep. So far, so good. I guess this isn't so bad after all.
"Babe," Jake says, nudging me in the shoulder.
I've had my eyes closed, but I'm only resting in fear of Connor waking up with wrath.
"Mmm?" I groan.
"Do you smell that?"
Being a mouth breather when I'm half asleep, I hadn't noticed any smell. "No, what?" I inhale through my nose while feeling the hairs on my arm stand at attention. "What the hell is that?" I whisper. "Did someone fart?"
Jake looks around for the source. "We are sitting in front of the bathroom," he says.
"True." I close my eyes again and try to relax in the awkward position I've ended up in thanks to Connor sprawling out sideways, using my numb arm as a pillow.
"Wow, okay, that's not the bathroom," Jake says. He leans toward me, pointing his nose in the direction of Connor's bum. "Oh shit."
"What?" I ask, feeling my nerves reignite.
"He needs a diaper change, like…now," he says.
"Ugh, he's asleep, though," I tell him.
"Babe. Now."
I hand Jake the diaper bag. “Fine, here.”
He takes Connor from me, dropping the blanket to my lap as he lifts him up. "Ohhh no," I say. "Jake."
He looks at me with question in his eyes. "What?"
"Look," I tell him.
Connor's pants are soaked, but mixing that with the smell, I know this isn't going to be pretty.
"Hey man, I got to sneak out for a minute," Jake tells the now drunk businessman who struggles to stand from his seat.
"Wooooh, what the hell is that?" the guy asks loudly, waving his hand in front of his face.
Jake is around the corner and in the bathroom with Connor by the time the guy finishes his question. "Babies sometimes poop in their diapers," I tell him, rolling my eyes. I don't even care anymore. I used to be a nice, pleasant person who was respectful to others. Now, I just don't give a shit. You want to make fun of my kid? I'll make your life a living nightmare. Go ahead and try me.
"You know, if it was your son that smelled, I don't think it would still be as pungent right this second." As much as I'd like to tell him to jump in a lake, he does have a good point. Where is that smell coming from? It's like right on top of me.
"Ugh, what is that smell?" someone in front of me asks out loud.
"Oh God, what is that?" another passenger says.
"It smells like a barn animal took a dump. Where is that coming from?" The questions continue, and I sink deeper into my seat. While doing so, the scent grows a little stronger, and I grab the blanket. I hold it up to my nose and almost vomit in it from the smell. I tear it off my lap and toss it to the ground, finding a huge wet stain on my jeans. It leaked through his diaper, his pants, the blanket, and my pants. I'm soaked with poop juice. I smell. This is me, and I stink.
It takes a good ten minutes before Jake reappears from the bathroom, holding Connor, who's dressed in a new outfit. Jake smiles at the businessman, waiting for him to slide back out of his seat. "You didn't fix the problem," the man says to Jake.
Jake gives him a confused look before sitting down and handing Connor over to me. "Ech, he's right. Why does it still smell?"
I point at my lap and clench my jaw. "This is why," I tell him.
"Oh no," Jake says. "He had real bad diarrhea. I think he's sick from something. You're not even going to believe what just happened in there, Jenn." He's like sweating and acting like he's never changed a dirty diaper before. "I had to have him stand, balancing on the toilet seat while poop just dripped out of him like a leaky faucet. Did you know they hide the goddamn toilet paper in there? I seriously couldn't find it. I had to use paper towels—"
"We have wipes!" I tell him.
"No, you don't understand, I couldn't move him. He was leaking watery shit all over the bathroom. When it finally stopped for a minute, I cleaned him up with the paper towel, or fifteen, and then toilet became overstuffed and wouldn't flush. I know you're not supposed to throw paper towels in there, but what was I supposed to do?"
I have my face covered with my hand, trying my hardest not to laugh at this unbelievable situation. "I'm so sorry," I tell him.
"Then…I'm not done. Then, I had to grab the diaper while still holding him in his balancing act. I had to maneuver the thing onto him while holding him with one hand and sealing the diaper together at the same time. It's not as easy as it looks. Getting him dressed was okay, but that was absolute hell."
"He must be really sick." I think for a minute about what could have made him so sick. "That's weird," I say, thinking about it for a minute. "Crap, it must have been the Benadryl."
"You don't know it was that," Jake argues.
"He had plain Cheerios for breakfast. I'm pretty sure it was the Benadryl."
I just want to act like a child and yell at him to say I told you so even though I'm the one who gave him the Benadryl—#momfail. "I'm sorry babe," he says, wrapping his arm around me while bouncing Connor on his lap.
/> "Me too," I tell him, smiling as I peer down at Connor's red, puffy cheeks. "I love that Connor has the same pooping look on his face that you do when you have to poop; it's adorable."
"Huh?" Jake questions while looking down at Connor who is definitely mid-poop.
Jake lifts Connor up, and diarrhea drips from his diaper and down the legs of his shorts before pooling in Jake's lap.
"Oh shit," he shouts.
"Yeah, you can say that again," I tell him.
"Jesus, are you kidding me?" the businessman asks. "What the hell is going on with your kid?"
I ignore the asshole this time and hand Jake the baby bag again. "Seriously? I'm covered with shit."
"Me too," I remind him. "It's a cute family thing. You're already over there, just ask that guy to move again."
"Okay, seriously, what is that stench?” someone asks, standing from their seat, looking toward us.
I lift my hand up and point to the businessman as he types away on his laptop. The woman gives me a look of disgust and mouths the words, "I'm so sorry." Yeah, that's right.
"Please put your trays up and return your seats to their upright position as we begin our descent into the Orlando area," the flight attendant says.
Jake looks at me with wide eyes. "What are we supposed to do with him?"
I grab the blanket back, and we both quickly wrap him up like a burrito. A burrito who thinks this is all real funny as he giggles at both of us.
"We have to keep the poop where it is until we land."
Jake whines and fake cries as he tosses his head into the seat's back. "This is disgusting."
"I guess we've learned a valuable lesson today," I tell him, not hiding the sneakiness I'm feeling inside.
"Quiet, Jenn," he groans.
"Just saying," I add in.
The plane lands, and we pull up to the gate just in time, seeing as the entire plane is making gagging sounds.
#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms Page 4
