Yesterday was Abby's two-month birthday, and it was an interesting day to say the least. After a fabulous trip to Long Island, including a train ride into the city with a walk around Central Park, it was time to fly home. She'd been getting kind of snotty, not behavior of course but nose/chest, and started to have a very rough bout of gas. It's funny how we can talk about gas, puke, snot, poop, and all other bodily functions with an infant or small child without any real discomfort, but we seem so touchy when it comes to adults. I digress....To make what could be a very long story short, Abby was very fussy in the airport, slept for the first 20 minutes of our flight and then woke up to the loudspeaker...and it was ALL over....she screamed bloody murder for 5 out of every 6 minutes for the rest of the flight.
NOTE TO ALL FLYERS....if you are seated next to someone with an infant, whether sleeping or inconsolable, do not ignore the parent. If you ignore the small being next to you, the parents will think you're "that" person thinking "great I'm on the flight with an infant". I've said this a lot in the last 12 hours, but trust me, out of everyone on the flight with a screaming infant...the infant wants to get off of the plane the most. Between bouncing, rocking, "shhhhh-ing", and wrapping her as close to me as I could get her for the painful decent into Raleigh and the pressure changes that must have been killing her ears I had a mommy moment.
I went into my own little bubble and wanted to cry with her, take away her pain, and no matter how much my back was hurting me, or the amount of spit up I was covered in...none of it mattered. This is a central part of being a parent, the selfless love that makes you want to throw yourself into a fire pit to protect your children. While I wish that she could have been more comfortable, I appreciated showing myself that I had this kind of love for her. After quietly shedding a few tears out of desperation, we both had a sigh of relief when she calmed down at landing.
THAT was my Chic Moment of the day. The rest of the world didnt matter, the spit up didnt matter, the breast milk all over my shirt didnt matter, my hair and make up didnt matter. What mattered was the 13.5 pounds snuggled into my neck and grabbing my shirt that will eventually call me "mom".
Until next time...