One of the tried and true “mommy blog” topics is the challenge of traveling with young kids like myself. In fact, a quick Google search for “Tips for Traveling with Children Without Going Bat Shit,” yielded over 5 billion entries.
I’m relatively new to air travel. Didn’t take my first flight until I was 3. My mom was too much of a wuss to try it even though, before I was around, she traveled extensively (allegedly she went on a solo trip to India and did a trek in the Himalayas). Yet, somehow, the thought of changing my diapers at 30,000 feet was too much for her. Go figure.
Last August she and I flew across the country together. BIG MISTAKE. On the way back, after two long layovers, we were both exhausted. We had 10 minutes to catch our final connection and suddenly SHE has to go to the bathroom. Not the greatest timing. (Why didn’t she go before?!) Anyway, next she gets it in her head that I need to go to the bathroom too. Really? You predict I need to go potty? Who the hell are you…Rasputin? I told her she was mistaken but she kept insisting. Talk about a control freak. Gives a whole new meaning to anal.
This kind of B.S. has been going on for a while. Ever since I got out of diapers she obsessively asks me if I have to go. I’ve been keeping tabs on it. (Of her 1,239,494 bathroom inquires she’s been correct ONLY 99.9999% of the time.)
So anywho we find an airport bathroom and end up waiting in a hellaciously long line. When her turn comes she hurries me into a stall. After she’s done she’s suddenly pulling down my pants and trying to put me on the toilet. You think the TSA is intrusive? Think again. I had only one choice in this situation. I screamed:
“Get your hands off of me!!”
She didn’t. She’s still trying to get me to sit on the potty. So I scream again. This time at the top of my lungs.
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!!”
That did it. I’ve never seen my mom more embarrassed. She looked like she was laughing and crying at the same time (First sign of schizophrenia?) Still she couldn’t let it go without asking one more time,(this time in a whisper): “Are you SURE you don’t have to go?” Yeah, lady I’m sure.
The best part was she had to walk out with a long line of women staring at us. They were no doubt wondering “what kind of monster (who forgets to bring an extra change of clothes for her daughter) would force a kid to use the bathroom?”
Turns out our flight was delayed. So the next thing I know we’re at a restaurant and my mom is slurping on some sort of tomato juice with a celery stick in it that she claims is for “mommies only.” Ever heard of that?