Graviation - A Lesson in Balancing Your Endurance & Sanity for the Traveling Mom
"Warning! Warning!" No, it wasn't the seatbelt sign illuminating. Nor was it any type of beeping alarm coming from the cockpit.
It was the unmistakable smell of a freshly soiled diaper, registering in the alarm centers of my brain, as it wafted into the nostrils, of my fellow passengers, and I, at approximately 30,000 feet, just as we had recently settled into our comfortable ride aboard a regional "fun-jet" en route to Salt Lake City.
Matter was descending, alright, but it wasn't the plane.
The day had started out innocently enough, with the typical, "up-at-3AM" to catch the 6:AM flight routine", complete with the burning eyeballs and the shaky body of a prematurely risen person... where your body already feels so wracked from packing from the day before, that the idea of coffee would almost be an insult upon on the fragile fortress of your flesh.
Nonetheless, (and it wasn't the first time I'd assaulted the body with something it didn't need), I poured that first, rushed cup of coffee, preceeding my very long day-to-be. I added the sugar to the stout, black cup, and tipped it back like an old Western frontiersman with a shot of whiskey before a gunfight.
Heading out the front door, (ironically sporting all the grace of that aforementioned, tipsy frontiersman) I wobbled into the still-dark pre-dawn, Oklahoma air. My body couldn't seem to acclimate to the faint chill underscoring the humidity... my skin, failing to give rise to goosebumps, broke out in an odd sweat.
As it often is, the cool, dryness of the truck's interior offered a welcome contrast, making me thank the gods of artificial acclimatization methods (or, to be more specific: Whomever the ANGELS are who invented air conditioning)!
The truck's interior may have been cool... but it couldn't hold a candle to the frost which had settled in the hearts of my boyfriend and I, in the weeks leading up to our departure. After all, I was leaving for an undetermined amount of time.
While there may have been quietness & stillness in the air, there was that oft unspoken emotional clamor of fragile hearts' shards cascading as they broke, passing through our weary bodies, leaving weakness in their wake, and later, manifesting as tears, once the goodbyes had been said.
So, perhaps hopeful for a speedy return, my boyfriend kept the goodbye somewhat rigid & terse, although later, he admitted difficulty holding in the emotions which wafted through him, and consequently overtook him once he was back within the respite confines of his truck.
Like a baby with less self-control than the very 5 month old I was lugging toward the ticket counter, I fought back tears. With the diaper bag teetering precariously (in hindsight, miraculously) on the giant single suitcase, with the baby carrier gripped firmly in my other hand, I waddled up to the counter.
Bag = check.
Car-seat = check.
With part of my load now freed from my body, I strapped the "front-pack" baby carrier on, like a yoke on an ox, in preparation for a day that would prove every bit as trying as what oxen must have felt, as they go head to head with the earth, in a battle of brute strength.
So, in hindsight, I wondered what obstacles such oxen might encounter during a typical day.
Thunderstorms, maybe?
Perhaps excruciating heat?
Whatever the case, this was to be a day rife with challenges for this mama ox (with baby in-tow.)
To be honest, the part where we boarded the first of our three flights was hazy... I only remember the roar of the engines, as they anted up to produce the propulsion needed to get us airborne.
A few seconds following the cursory roar, we lurched forward, picking up speed with each passing second.
I looked out the window, watching the scenery whiz by at speeds impossible to comprehend (except by imagining you're a racecar driver in an oversized carapace).
In one gentle, swoop of the fuselage, our large, metal airship was airborne.
It's always a bit of a disappointment how anticlimactic a takeoff is after such a buildup of force is expelled to lift us off the ground. Because once you take off, the scenery disappears rapidly, (and in this case, I wouldn't have seen it anyway, as my eyes were blurry with the tears of remembering the goodbye I'd exchanged, with my boyfriend & daughter, as well as my other children* (*we've collectively assumed parentship with each other's children. The baby in this story is a baby we biologically share, together).
After the initial lift off, before you know it, you're punching through clouds (sometimes ceiling upon ceiling of cloud layers), until the plane levels off, & you've reached what they refer to as your "cruising altitude".
It was upon reaching the "C.A." of this particular flight, that I made the brilliant decision to give my little baby "ox" a bottle of delicious formula. (Although breastfeeding is my preferred method of feeding, I had packed a few formula bottles in case conditions were not favorable for breastfeeding.)
I thought this might be a harmless time to go ahead and offer the infant a nice, full tummy with some sustenance. After all, I reasoned that a baby with a nice, full tummy is usually a calm baby, (and I wasn't taking chances that my baby might be the characteristic 'crying infant' that so many passengers dread). Plus, I figured with the changing altitudes, her frequent swallowing would keep her ears popped, and help her avoid the inevitable discomfort brought on by pressure changes.
Satisfied with my decision, I gloated. "Nobody's gonna see an accidental 'nip-slip' from me", I smiled to myself, as I sat back & enjoyed the flight, while my happily sat, slurping her bottle on my lap.
Then suddenly, she grew restless. The bottle came out of her mouth a few times... and she leaned forward. And then... the thunder rolled. (And I'm not talking about any inclimate weather conditions outside the aircraft.)
It was the unmistakable, thunderous percolations that infants seem to be masters at producing.
And with the first vibrating rumble, followed another,
and another,
and another...
With FIVE total.
Sweat began to bead on my forehead in spite of the cool 70-something degree climate in the airplane cabin, and alarms sounded in my head, as the first giveaways of terrestrial baby fruition wafted capriciously into my nostrils.
... TO BE CONTINUED ....
Stay Tuned for the conclusion of this blog, coming soon!
It was the unmistakable smell of a freshly soiled diaper, registering in the alarm centers of my brain, as it wafted into the nostrils, of my fellow passengers, and I, at approximately 30,000 feet, just as we had recently settled into our comfortable ride aboard a regional "fun-jet" en route to Salt Lake City.
Matter was descending, alright, but it wasn't the plane.
The day had started out innocently enough, with the typical, "up-at-3AM" to catch the 6:AM flight routine", complete with the burning eyeballs and the shaky body of a prematurely risen person... where your body already feels so wracked from packing from the day before, that the idea of coffee would almost be an insult upon on the fragile fortress of your flesh.
Nonetheless, (and it wasn't the first time I'd assaulted the body with something it didn't need), I poured that first, rushed cup of coffee, preceeding my very long day-to-be. I added the sugar to the stout, black cup, and tipped it back like an old Western frontiersman with a shot of whiskey before a gunfight.
Heading out the front door, (ironically sporting all the grace of that aforementioned, tipsy frontiersman) I wobbled into the still-dark pre-dawn, Oklahoma air. My body couldn't seem to acclimate to the faint chill underscoring the humidity... my skin, failing to give rise to goosebumps, broke out in an odd sweat.
As it often is, the cool, dryness of the truck's interior offered a welcome contrast, making me thank the gods of artificial acclimatization methods (or, to be more specific: Whomever the ANGELS are who invented air conditioning)!
The truck's interior may have been cool... but it couldn't hold a candle to the frost which had settled in the hearts of my boyfriend and I, in the weeks leading up to our departure. After all, I was leaving for an undetermined amount of time.
While there may have been quietness & stillness in the air, there was that oft unspoken emotional clamor of fragile hearts' shards cascading as they broke, passing through our weary bodies, leaving weakness in their wake, and later, manifesting as tears, once the goodbyes had been said.
So, perhaps hopeful for a speedy return, my boyfriend kept the goodbye somewhat rigid & terse, although later, he admitted difficulty holding in the emotions which wafted through him, and consequently overtook him once he was back within the respite confines of his truck.
Like a baby with less self-control than the very 5 month old I was lugging toward the ticket counter, I fought back tears. With the diaper bag teetering precariously (in hindsight, miraculously) on the giant single suitcase, with the baby carrier gripped firmly in my other hand, I waddled up to the counter.
Bag = check.
Car-seat = check.
With part of my load now freed from my body, I strapped the "front-pack" baby carrier on, like a yoke on an ox, in preparation for a day that would prove every bit as trying as what oxen must have felt, as they go head to head with the earth, in a battle of brute strength.
So, in hindsight, I wondered what obstacles such oxen might encounter during a typical day.
Thunderstorms, maybe?
Perhaps excruciating heat?
Whatever the case, this was to be a day rife with challenges for this mama ox (with baby in-tow.)
To be honest, the part where we boarded the first of our three flights was hazy... I only remember the roar of the engines, as they anted up to produce the propulsion needed to get us airborne.
A few seconds following the cursory roar, we lurched forward, picking up speed with each passing second.
I looked out the window, watching the scenery whiz by at speeds impossible to comprehend (except by imagining you're a racecar driver in an oversized carapace).
In one gentle, swoop of the fuselage, our large, metal airship was airborne.
It's always a bit of a disappointment how anticlimactic a takeoff is after such a buildup of force is expelled to lift us off the ground. Because once you take off, the scenery disappears rapidly, (and in this case, I wouldn't have seen it anyway, as my eyes were blurry with the tears of remembering the goodbye I'd exchanged, with my boyfriend & daughter, as well as my other children* (*we've collectively assumed parentship with each other's children. The baby in this story is a baby we biologically share, together).
After the initial lift off, before you know it, you're punching through clouds (sometimes ceiling upon ceiling of cloud layers), until the plane levels off, & you've reached what they refer to as your "cruising altitude".
It was upon reaching the "C.A." of this particular flight, that I made the brilliant decision to give my little baby "ox" a bottle of delicious formula. (Although breastfeeding is my preferred method of feeding, I had packed a few formula bottles in case conditions were not favorable for breastfeeding.)
I thought this might be a harmless time to go ahead and offer the infant a nice, full tummy with some sustenance. After all, I reasoned that a baby with a nice, full tummy is usually a calm baby, (and I wasn't taking chances that my baby might be the characteristic 'crying infant' that so many passengers dread). Plus, I figured with the changing altitudes, her frequent swallowing would keep her ears popped, and help her avoid the inevitable discomfort brought on by pressure changes.
Satisfied with my decision, I gloated. "Nobody's gonna see an accidental 'nip-slip' from me", I smiled to myself, as I sat back & enjoyed the flight, while my happily sat, slurping her bottle on my lap.
Then suddenly, she grew restless. The bottle came out of her mouth a few times... and she leaned forward. And then... the thunder rolled. (And I'm not talking about any inclimate weather conditions outside the aircraft.)
It was the unmistakable, thunderous percolations that infants seem to be masters at producing.
And with the first vibrating rumble, followed another,
and another,
and another...
With FIVE total.
Sweat began to bead on my forehead in spite of the cool 70-something degree climate in the airplane cabin, and alarms sounded in my head, as the first giveaways of terrestrial baby fruition wafted capriciously into my nostrils.
... TO BE CONTINUED ....
Stay Tuned for the conclusion of this blog, coming soon!
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