Fear

As you are reading this, I am somewhere in the air.

Probably panicking just a little bit.

And glad that the flight is so short.

And that the stewardesses look pretty calm.

And that Ava is keeping me preoccupied. 

I hate to fly.

It hasn't always been this way.

I flew more in my first 16 years of life than many people have in a lifetime.

Until Rome.

Isabella was almost 8 months old and we decided to visit my husband's family.

It was lovely.

Until we were trapped in a 3 by 3 elevator, with baby in 35+ degrees.

I panicked.

And was on edge a lot following the episode.

I also walked up all 7 or 8 floors the entire rest of the trip. Holding Isabella.

When it was time to return home, we were fortunate enough to have a friend working the flight.

She moved us to the last row of seats as there was an empty seat there giving us more room with the baby.

She fed us pizza and other delicacies from the local market while other passengers stared.

Truth.

And then the turbulence hit.

Not your regular every day kind. Rough. Really bumpy.

The stewardess we knew strapped herself in next to me.

Yes, I know it is protocol.

But it terrified me.

I have never been the same.

So today, I ask for a little prayer.

Let it be over quickly and let us arrive safely.

Next post will come to you from West Palm Beach! God willing.

Happy Tuesday friends.

*all images courtesy of pinterest