The Only Time I've Ever Been Grateful for a Diaper Explosion

I was terrified to fly back to Texas from Utah. I was alone with my little baby, and even though she had been on a plane four times before and had slept soundly through each flight, I was paranoid that this would be the flight she'd decide to scream inconsolably and flail around, smacking the other people in my row with her uncontrolled limbs, earning me glares from the flight attendants on behalf of all the annoyed passengers. Maybe it was the stress of being away from Roo, but the thought of this plane flight literally kept me up at night in the many weeks before. I made it a high priority in my daily prayers. It was like, "I'm thankful for Jesus. Please bless that Esmé will sleep through our flight home. I'm thankful for food."

So the day came. We said tearful goodbyes to mom. Hefted all our junk through security. We paced through the terminal. We walked down the jetway. We sat down. The baby seemed pretty cool with everything up until that point. She just jabbered away and tore up our copy of Skymall Magazine. And as we were taking off, I fed her a bottle and she drifted away peacefully in my arms. I was so relieved! I settled in and thought about awesome it is when God does what you ask him to.

And then half an hour later, she woke up. We still had two and a half hours left! Despite how strongly I willed her with my mind to go back to sleep, she started arching her back, squealing, and reaching for everything within her tiny arm's length. She wanted to move around, but I was stuck in my seat. I could foresee a meltdown on the horizon. Within the next two hours, I would learn to be grateful for three things which, previously, I had never, ever been grateful for:

1. About fifteen minutes after waking up, Esmé had a blowout. I heard (and felt) (and smelt) the ominous rumble in her pants. And then slowly the foulness began to seep through her shirt, through her pants. Now normally this would be really crappy (literally..ha, ha), however the mess necessitated a trip to the lavatory. I spent the next 15 minutes struggling like a contortionist in the tiny bathroom to take off her clothes, clean her up, (I won't go into detail. Suffice it to say, it required a lot of effort. A fire hose would've been helpful.) try to wash out the clothes, etc. Why was I grateful for this episode? Because it took up time. Time I would've otherwise spent wrestling the baby in my seat. So I was grateful that the poop gave us both something to occupy ourselves for a while.

2. I had a talker sitting in the row ahead of me. You know how there is, without fail, a non-stop talker on every single flight? Not only does that person talk non-stop, but they speak at a decibel level just above "jet engine" on the decibel scale. Normally I loathe the talker, but during this particular flight our talker provided valuable background noise. Meaning, because she was talking so loudly and at such a constant rate to the guy across the aisle from her, she actually drowned out the noise little Esmé was making. Not only that, but because I am an unabashed eavesdropper, this woman gave me a good two-hour's worth of juicy, true-life drama. She covered every subject from the South American drug trade to suicide, prescription drug abuse, Mormons, child-rearing, and the weather--all of which she had abundant personal experience with.

3. The woman sitting next to me was very friendly. Though that's not something I particularly dislike, I have to admit that I usually prefer to let a polite smile be all that passes between myself and the stranger in the seat next to me on flights. I don't want to talk. I'm a curmudgeon that way, I guess. But on this day, I was saved by my friendly companion. The funny thing was that this woman couldn't even speak English. She knew enough to tell me that she was from Vietnam and that she lived in Houston. But what she couldn't say with her words, she told me with her actions--she was the sweetest lady ever! First of all, she offered me one of her mints. Then, she was so interested in Esmé--but not in a pushy or creepy way. When the baby got restless and difficult to handle, this woman would smile at her and try to play with her and distract her. While I bet most of the people on that flight would've hated sitting next to us, this woman was so patient and kind. She helped me buckle my seatbelt, pick up things I dropped, she even offered to take Esmé for a bit to give me a break. Esmé was very interested in the lady and smiled and laughed with her. I've learned that airline travel is where you can see the worst and best of humanity. That day I was so grateful for this sweet, friendly stranger.

Needless to say, you can learn a lot from difficult circumstances.

I couldn't stop smiling once the plane landed. We got off. Then we met Roo in the airport. That was a great reunion.

Here's Roo seeing Esmé for the first time in seven weeks: