El Vuelo (The Flight)

We had no kids! There was no one else to feed, take to the bathroom (Trey can go by himself;)), no one to scream at me, no one to spill juice. We were adults only. It was exciting! Incredible! Surreal!

There was a kid on the plane. In the seat in front of us.

I immediately think, “well, crap.” Just like any other kind, loving mother would react.

I look over to point out to Trey that we’re now officially screwed for the next two hours and forty minutes, and before I can get a word out he says, “That little boy is cute.”

Great. Now he’s on the kid’s team. Here I am trying to be annoyed at the kid and the parents for infringing on my flight – I don’t care if they need to visit their grandma on her deathbed, or if they are returning home from a humanitarian mission in the dredges of impoverished Plano, they were on my flight, on my vacation. Trey is commenting on the kid’s cute-factor. Frustrating!

So off we go to Mexico, and for the first two hours and fifteen minutes the kid never made a sound. He was so good. I can’t even believe a child is capable of being that good ever, much less on an airplane.

Near the end of the flight, the boy peeked over the seat to look at us, and he was immediately infatuated by Trey. Trey talked to him, asked how old he was, and told his parents how good he was. By this point I had gone from the world’s most self-centered person to someone more rational, so I joined in talking to the kid. I asked his dad if he could have peanut butter, and when he said yes I gave the boy one of my delicious peanut butter filled pretzels. He popped it in his mouth and grinned, brown peanut butter slobber oozing down his chin.

Then I panicked! What if the boy was allergic to peanut butter? What if his parents had never given it to him before and I just gave it to him on an airplane over the Gulf of Mexico? I asked first, but maybe they didn’t speak much English and were just being polite. What had I done?

I frantically scanned the plane to see if anyone looked like a medical professional – I suppose I expected the doctors on board to wear a badge or something. When I couldn’t mentally locate an allergist, I decided to study the boy for any sign of face swelling or shortness of breath. I chided myself for my irresponsibility. What was I doing with peanut butter on a plane? Why did I offer it to a kid? Would this be on the national news? “Bitter, Vacationing Mother Kills 20 Month Old on Plane.”

Luckily, the child continued to breathe. He even had a few more pretzels, although Trey gave them to him. I couldn’t make myself take the chance again. While the immediate allergy threat had passed, there was the question of the poor child’s tolerance to larger amounts of peanut butter, and I was not willing to take that risk.

What did I learn? We’re parents. Even when we’re not parents. Trey’s always the kind, lovable dad. I’m always the trying to-be-accommodating, worrying mother. Even when we’re not.

Except in Mexico…