“Ma’am,” she began in a tone that was soothing. I could feel myself relaxing from that very first word. She went on to explain that the “carrier” was safe for my baby ... that she had used one for her baby ... that the process of the “carrier” under the seat was safer than an infant in a traditional carrier buckled in a seat.
This made no sense to me, but her voice and the look in her eyes told me that she was being honest with me. I don’t know if I had been placed in a temporary trance or what happened, but like an obedient child I placed my baby in the carrier and slid it under my seat. I buckled my seat belt after securing my oldest son in his seat.
The plane took off. For the next twenty-four hours (the full length of the flight), I became a Dramamine® popping queen, still in a trance that obviously lasted until the plane landed.
I was gathering our carry-on bags when Greg came up to me. His smile was semi-normal (the trance was wearing off and reality was setting back in, I think).
“Flight virgin, huh?” he asked, grinning. I think I heard a light chuckle as he turned to walk away, which only sprung me from whatever remained of the nice attendant’s calming effect.
“Greg!” I called out. He turned back around to face me; his smile back to its mechanical position.
“Thanks for the carrier.” I said with a smile that mirrored his. I gave the box a hard toss. I hope his cheek doesn’t hurt for too long!
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