270. Worst mother on the planet

I had been very distant about the whole thing. I mean I'd done it before with Miss Organiser not so long ago. Been there. Seen it all before  type of attitude. The blasé mum. And anyway this was  more a dad thing: discussing the best way to pack a rucksack, the best secret pockets for emergency cash, how to fend off pick-pockets and select the best street-food vendors from a mile off. 

It was only later on, when I checked my phone mid-meeting and saw the message I'm off followed by a throbbing red heart (isn't modern technology wonderful) that my heart melted. My baby number 2 was doing a runner. She was was going away without me. Far far away from her perfect mother. And I hadn't been paying attention. I did not even know where she was landing! Delhi? Calcutta? Copacabana? Marseille? From perfect mother I was demoted to worst mother of the planet in the blink of an eye. I wanted to scream and cry out loud and share this unbearable burden with the people around me but I was at work. I was in the middle of a meeting where some kind of weird activity was taking place. Somewhere between a sect ritual and an anonymous alcoholics group discussion; we were all sitting behind desks arranged in a rectangle and we had to express our wishes one after the other, in alphabetic order. We could only say one thing at a time and then had to wait for the whole process to go through the whole group again. 

I tried to take my mind off things with the slice of banana cake made by the only colleague in the group that had had a thought about our general well-being and baked something for everyone to share. It tasted good and I concentrated on the munching.

I looked around the room. The matter at hand seemed so important. I turned back to my phone and did not even try to hide and typed a string of little pink hearts, and tons of hugs and kisses and teary faces with already-missing-you's. I looked up and seeing that the colleague who had brought a flask of coffee was hiding behind the curtains to have a puff on her electronic cigarette I helped myself to the last of her coffee. 

I now felt a little better, telling myself that when she was small every time she was strapped in a seat I felt relaxed. The weird meeting came to an end. We went for a drink then for a meal and then I got home and got my phone out of my bag. Message from my husband.

'Muddy-B not taken off yet. Problem with door.'

That left me puzzled. Especially the problem-with-door bit. Was there a problem with the door of her bedroom? (Here again the pang of knowing I was a bad mother. Where was she staying anyway? Friend's? Hotel? Was she locked up somewhere, desperately trying to get out screaming and banging at the door of her bedroom? Was there a problem with the aircraft's door? They could not lock it? Images of a slim air stewardess with painted nails (colour matching the airline's) pulling at the huge door, a handsome steward in matching gear reading out the how to close the door sticker stuck on the wall. Or the pilot announcing in his mike: 'The door is a bit stiff but our crew is working on it and as soon as it is safely locked we will take off.' I had to chase these images away or I was going to faint on the beautiful tiles and the family would have two problems instead of one. 

Then the phone flashed.

'Problem with the plane.'

Now the door problem had spread to the plane in its entirety. Had the crew given up and the pilot decided to take off anyway and see if they could fly with the door open? Thoughts of my sweet girl screaming and kicking her feet as she was stuck in her seat, unable to unfasten the belt and leave the aircraft with the crazy crew members.

This was insane. I had to make sense of the situation. I did what my husband would do and made myself a cup of tea. Then Baby came down.

'Have you seen Muddy-Boots' story? They've not even taken off! They're going to come off the plane and going to a hotel for free! And they got a free wash-bag and a free teeshirt.'

Her brother had come in, thinking that after all life at home was quite exciting.

'What kind of airline is she flying with? They can't be very good. I mean ... how do you miss that there's something wrong with the door! You stuff all the passengers in and then oh sorry we can't close the door. So you have to get back out.'

Baby showed me a picture of the big plane. A door was sticking up and had been circled in red with an arrow pointing to it. It was one of the doors of the luggage hold thank goodness. For some very weird reason it did not seem so bad to me. 

After exchanging a few more messages we were happy to know that she was in a hotel with her free tee-shirt and her free wash-kit and that the flight was rescheduled the following morning. I had to ask a few more questions, this time I was going to be a good mother and be interested in the trip. I rummaged around on the desk to find the itinerary and tried to memorise some information. Then I sent her some messages.

'Make sure you watch Eat Pray Love onboard.'

'Is the tee-shirt a throwaway teeshirt or a real one?

'Is there a pair of knickers in the free pack?'

Then I put the phone away. All was good. I was the perfect mother again, I had asked all the right questions.