Please, oh please. Don’t sit here. My heart races as I maneuver sideways down an aisle that seems designed for runway models or those fortunate souls who can indulge in dessert without consequence.
After an eight-year hiatus from flying and gaining 100 pounds since having my little one—weight I’m not exactly proud of—I was not prepared for the reaction I received from what felt like a crowd at a circus. Dressed in an oversized hoodie and black, flowy yoga pants, I boarded the plane late with my friend because, naturally, breakfast took precedence.
Only two seats left: one aisle seat beside two petite women in their early twenties headed to Vegas for a weekend of fun, and the other sandwiched between a businessman and another passenger who was at least my size. I opted for the row with the fresh high school grad, thinking it would be a better fit.
Seriously, I had to squeeze myself into that seat, forcing my hips down underneath the armrests. As the round businessman to my right struggled to buckle his seatbelt, I attempted the same and quickly realized, “If this plane goes down at cruising altitude, this seatbelt isn’t saving me.” So, I tucked the ends under my hoodie pocket and gave my tiny flight attendant a polite smile as she strolled by.
My not-so-toned arm drifted into the aisle, leading to a series of encounters where every passing passenger bumped into me, their surprised expressions suggesting they hadn’t noticed my arm extending into their space. I smiled back, as if to say, “No worries! I have two arms anyway, and this one could stand to lose a few inches.”
When people talk about “leg room” on planes, they’re usually referring to the space for their knees. But let me tell you, Mr. Airline Executive, my thighs and hips are part of my legs too! I need you to widen those seats designed for tiny humans!
This flight was the longest 4.5 hours of my life, rivaling only the agony of labor. I was uncomfortable and guilt-ridden every time my seatmate shifted and sighed, knowing my right hip was encroaching on at least two inches of her space.
Then reality hit me hard as my young neighbors snuck tiny liquor bottles into their complimentary Cokes. I was closer in age to their mother behind them, who had packed those bottles along with a cheerful brown bag of snacks for each of the girls adorned with gorgeous false eyelashes and yoga pants that weren’t stretched to the limit. I would’ve totally packed snacks for my kids (minus the alcohol). When did I grow so old? Am I not still like, 22?
Sweet Mother of all things delightful and good!
To add to the absurdity, the businessmen beside us started suggesting activities for our Vegas trip. Their first recommendation? A ventriloquist show. So, there we sat, two women who probably looked like grandmas planning trips to yarn festivals and Amish country.
For those interested in learning more about home insemination, check out this informative post on artificial insemination kits. If you’re looking for reliable info regarding pregnancy, the CDC is an excellent resource.
In summary, navigating the journey of motherhood while dealing with body image and age perception can be quite the experience, especially on a crowded airplane. Embrace your journey, regardless of the bumps along the way.
Keyphrase: airplane travel and body image
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