only three and half hours now, Sweetie

This morning the sky in rural Connecticut is soft and gray, the breezes are cool, and the birdsong has been steady since four a.m. We are delighted to be here.

One never contemplates a journey over the Atlantic with little children without some measure of trepidation. Yet even my worst imaginings, had they actually come to pass, would have been cake compared to the reality.

In many ways, the details came together perfectly. We left the flat ready for our return, packed even lighter than I’d hoped and a friend offered to drive us in his car to Heathrow, thus sparing us two bus rides and a walk across town with all of our luggage. The girls sat quietly in a double umbrella stroller all through check-in, eating plums and staring at the people. Our plane was not delayed, and no one peed in awkward or unexpected places.

But just before we boarded the plane I began to feel very unwell indeed. It may interest Americans to know that in England, “ill” is usually the term. To be “sick” generally refers to vomiting. It is in the English sense that I use it now. I was violently sick seven times on the flight. I huddled in my hot, stuffy plane seat, worried about the baby (the unborn one) and shaking convulsively. Alex, meanwhile, (henceforward in this post to be referred to as “The Hero”) coped with me, the plane medic, and two tired and uncomfortable children (the flight was from about five to eleven p.m. their time). In the weird way that time is completely relative it was the longest flight of my life, and I’ve flown to China and back. After about a month of it I asked The Hero how long until landing. “Only three and half hours now, Sweetie.”

Then near the end, Norah finally fell asleep, curled up in her seat kitty-style. I knew she’d be crying and disoriented when she woke, and Harriet was already screaming on Alex’s lap. I was hot and sick and ready to cry with discomfort and irritation.

As we were landing Norah woke up. “We’re in America now, Norah!” I said, straining for a cheery voice. She stretched and smiled up at me. “Oh Mommy,” she said, “Aren’t we so blessed?”

And God, who is so good, was there: giving our family the rare-and-treasured opportunity to go home and see our loved ones, and giving me yet one more useful travel experience, such valuable training for my life. I lifted the round plastic window shade and the sunset blazed brightly into the cabin.

P.S. I think the baby is just fine. Apparently, I picked yesterday to come down with a flu bug, because Norah then had it throughout the night. We seem to be making our comeback now. We are tired–but happy.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in America. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to only three and half hours now, Sweetie

  1. Pam Lowther says:

    Betsy, you’re in CT again!!! I’m sure you’ll be busy spending time with family, but any chance you have plans to come up to MA for a visit? Or do you have time for us to come down to you even? I’d love to see you and the kids, even if for a short visit. I’d totally be willing to travel with my kids so we can see you. Email or call me!

  2. Deanna says:

    Oh eek! What a terrible few hours those must have been for you. I hope Alex and Harriet are able to avoid the misery and that the rest of your trip is entirely delightful!

  3. Erin says:

    ughhhh, BETS! How TERRIBLE. I am so sorry for your plane ride from hell. No better place to recover though than with Mom and Dad Kirk with all their wonderful fresh air and good food, right? If you have time, I’d love to talk on the phone and hear your voice! Obvi, no pressure. xoxo

  4. Keli says:

    Sounds like a nightmare! You are amazing! I got sick on the way home from Chris’ parent’s house in Indiana once and I made Chris stop and get a hotel…I can’t imagine being stuck on a plane! Hope you are feeling better!!

  5. Pingback: we’re baaaaack | part of the main

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s