Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Sometimes I don't like to travel

I can't say I'm a big fan of St. Louis and yet, I'm back again.

I spent the morning on client calls before saying good-bye to my sweet darling smiling son, dropping him off at school and then racing off to my flight. My friend and colleague Amanda was just chatting to me the other day about the difference between those who travel often and those who don't. She felt she landed in the "don't" category, and therefore was going to show up to her flight (she was also traveling on business this week) an hour, or hour and a half Amanda?, early. I, on the other hand, must fall into the "often" category (in Amanda's mind at least). Since, I decided to grab lunch on my way to the gate, ordering it to go, and finally waltzing up to tag the end of the line and hear our flight's last calls over the intercom.

It's a theme of mine - cutting it close.

The flight was packed, and I've been coming down with another cold (interestingly, the last time I was sick ALSO hit me during a trip to St. Louis. I think my body is telling me I must be allergic to this town. RIGHT?), so I ended up sleeping with my mouth wide open for most of the flight, the demure woman that I am. Which, was really just too bad, because my back was aching me something terrible, and yet I didn't have enough energy to stand at the back of the plane (like I usually try to do).

Halfway through the flight, we had some turbulence that was, let's just say, not insignificant. I've flown a fair number of times in my life, and turbulence has never really bothered me. Yet today, I found my mind racing, dreaming up a ridiculously bleak and dismal scene where our plane tumbles to the ground, crashing and burning in the process. Tellme would mourn the loss of two loyal employees, Stanford would mourn the loss of their Track team, and Jon would be faced with the impossible task of raising Logan on his own, trying to explain to him that his Mommy wouldn't be coming home (ever) again. I imagined how petrified I would be, plummeting to earth while it happened. And, if all that weren't appalling enough, I found myself planning out my "only" chance of survival, wondering if I could use the ridiculously obese woman taking up three seats in the row across from me, as some sort of shield to help absorb the impact. Yes, this awful awful awful thought actually crossed my mind! (I'm not proud of it)

I tell you this story only to get you to understand HOW MUCH my perspective on life has changed since having Logan. I have never been so afraid to die, so worried of what will happen to my family and friends, so concerned about my husband and son, and so willing to do anything to protect us all, as I am these days. I used to drive, or ride with those who would drive, recklessly, throwing all caution to the wind. Now I am that mom. Gripping the oh shit bar, tight lipped and slamming my foot into the floorboard to brake. I used to chat with anyone online, go out on dates with random strangers, flirt and have fun at the local bar scene or hitch-hike home in a country where I wasn't completely fluent in the language and the driver was drinking a can of beer. Now I am that mom. I see young girls posting up silly comments on blogs or streaming live video of their slumber parties and think OH HELL NO will my daughter (or son) ever be allowed to do that. I used to sleep through any amount of turbulence and scoff at those who turned green. Now I am that mom. Freaking out about a bumpy ride, praying we get through the flight safe and sound so I can see my chubby cheeked toddler once again.

It's a little depressing, this revelation of mine. And yet, it's also rejuvenating. I've always taken on a Mama Bear persona, but now that I'm actually a mom, I can let it shine through, without any embarrassment, awkwardness or explanation whatsoever.

I like it.

Somewhere between California and Missouri, after the turbulence and gruesome daydreaming subsided, I discovered I had lost one of my earrings. One of my precious diamond earrings. And, I was bummed for the rest of the night.

I can't watch TV - sorry, lost an earring. I can't read my book - sorry, lost an earring. I can't concentrate on my work - sorry, lost an earring. I can't go downstairs and hit the gym - HELLO! I just lost a, wait for it..... diamond earring!

Waaaaah. I wanna go home. I miss Jon, I miss Logan. There's this huge empty King-size bed staring at me, inviting me to sleep, yet all I can think about is how much more comfortable it would be crammed up against a big guy, a little guy, a leggy dog and three purring cats on our maxed out Queen-size bed. That and, I just lost my fucking earring.


Elizabeth said...

1. I lost a prong on my ring while flying to DC. I took the ring to the jeweler and prepared myself for the quote to fit it. AND THEN LIKE MAGIC, I was folding laundry a week later and it MIRACULOUSLY appeard on my bed.

So, I have hope for your earring.

2. I'm sure the thing about OWNING your ~that-mom-ness is highlighted because of Logan but I think it has a big chunk to do with being 33. I'm not as OLD OLD OLD as you are yet but OH MY GOSH the things I hear coming out of my own mouth sometimes startle me, and I don't even have kids.

I don't care if my tastes or opinions are stupid or uncool...I'll OWN THEM. Plus, when I see a gaggle of 12-year-old girls being STUPID (and sounding slutty), I want to shake them and tell them that one day they'll look back at themselves and wish they'd have just STFU.

3. I'm glad you didn't crash.

Mama Bree said...

well, if I had lost my earring while still at home, I may still find it - true. But, given all the various locations I stopped at along the way between home and St. Louis airport, I'm not holding my breath. ;-)

I totally agree about the age thing. In fact, when I was thinking about my crazy post some more this morning, I thought that it probably has A LOT more to do with my age. ;-) so yes, good point! (even tho you're rubbing in my OLD OLD OLD age - ha!)