PPS 2--Still on Conception Story

Next Installment, still on conception story, picking up at the airport:

Finally the flight was ready to board. Lucky ducks that we were, we got to board first. A hidden benefit of having a child. The gate attended smiled and played pee-a-boo with Sweet Pea and wished us a good flight. The plane was small, with very little space between the rows of sears. We struggled to install the car seat and strap Sweet Pea in. His feet were jammed up against the seat in front of him. He kicked once. He kicked twice. He found a new favorite activity. A desultory looking gentleman sat in the seat in front of Sweet Pea. He glared at me. I smiled back sweetly.

An hour or so later, we arrived at Dulles, which appeared to be the opposite of the Knoxville airport on the crowded scale. We had to deboard out on some faraway concourse and take a shuttle to the main terminal, a task that would have been much easier if we had not had so much darn stuff. We stuck Sweet Pea in his backpack, hoisted him on to Big B’s back and threaded our way through the maze of the airport. Winded, frazzled and vowing never to fly into Dulles again, we reached the baggage claim. I stood with Sweet Pea while Big B went in search of the rental car agency desk. Sweet Pea’s little blond head swung in a constant arc, surveying the commotion around us.
We are lucky that Sweet Pea is a relatively calm and good-natured child. He has been happy since birth and was an easy baby, never crying much and sleeping when he was supposed to sleep. He looked like a little cherub baby with strawberry blond curls and bright blue eyes. Little old ladies always stopped me to admire him and his cuteness. He smiled indulgently and laughed at them, a friend to everyone.

Standing at the baggage claim belt, I willed it to start. I was proud of Sweet Pea’s fortitude throughout this arduous journey but I was afraid to push him any further. Everyone has his breaking point. Finally the belt began turning and spewing out luggage. Big B showed up in the nick of time and we each took a side of the belt and looked for our bags. All three of our bags. One appeared. Another appeared.

“This is great,” I said. “We’ll get out of here in no time.”

I waited for the third bag. The belt went around once, twice, three times. Nothing. Apparently my bag had gone missing. Joy of joys.

It was now late afternoon. Sweet Pea was getting hungry. I was getting hungry. The poor child cried in protest when we hoisted him back into the backpack to find my bag.

“I’m with you, Sweet Pea,” I said in sympathy. “We’ll be ready to go soon,.” A lie. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.

Ever positive, Big B assured me. “Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”

One of Big B’s strengths is his calm in chaos, his steadfastness and reliability. He is a good match for my sometimes pessimistic and excitable nature. We have been married five years. Our meeting is a story for the Internet age. I used to be embarrassed to tell people how we met, thinking it marked us a socially inept losers, but now I think it’s kind of fun. We met through an online dating service, back before it was cool. I had just finished my Master’s in Education. I had been through a series of lousy relationships with artists, musicians and other assorted ner-do-wells. About to embark on my own career, I resolved to only date men with real jobs. I knew a few people who had made love connections on Match.com, I figured I’d give it a shot.

Being a software engineer, Big B worked on computers all day and was tired of meeting women in bars. He responded to my listing, we emailed for a couple of weeks, and then met for drinks at a neighborhood bar. I already I knew liked him from the emails, but once we met, I was smitten indeed. Several months in, I knew I wanted to marry him and one year later, we tied the knot in a large, beautiful, stressful wedding. I love Big B’s intellect and wit, but the one thing I value the most is his strength in a storm.

We trudged across the baggage area, trailing our load of goods, to the what was apparently the luggage graveyard. Unclaimed bags were lined up in rows, their square shapes making perfect tombstones. I futilely scanned the rows for my bag. Nada.

“Hang on, it’ll be here somewhere,” my steadfast rock told me.

“Yeah, right,” I snapped back. “I can’t freaking believe this. I’m never flying again. What a huge freaking mistake!”

Patience is not my best quality.

Big B spoke to the attendant, who directed him to a serpentine line in front of an adjacent counter. We stood in line. While scanning the horizon for a restroom, I noticed a cluster of bags off to the side. Jackpot! There was my Eddie Bauer Target Deluxe suitcase, sitting all by its lonesome self. We were in luck! I knew I should have listened my darling hubbie.

We hooked all our luggage together, a nice feature of this set, and wheeled off to the shuttle area. We were a teetering tower of precariously connected luggage. We managed to get everything on to the shuttle, into the rental car, and on the road with no major mishaps. Big B, ever wise, had Map Quested our route and in no time at all, we were in D.C. proper and at my aunt’s door.

My wonderfully ebullient and gregarious Aunt G. greeted us with great enthusiasm, helping to make up for our difficulty at the airport.

“Come in, come in! Christmas Gift! Christmas Gift! How was your trip?”

“Oh, fine, “ I fibbed. I saw no reason to impose our difficulties on everyone else.

We disrobed from coats and hats and luggage and sat down to dinner. Sweet Pea behaved wonderfully, threw no food and gobbled down his lasagna. It was nice to have arrived.