One of my favorite things about my life is never knowing what kind of text or email I’m going to wake up to. Sometimes it’s a mucus plug, sometimes it’s a breastfeeding issue, a picture of a baby rash, etc. I never know what my phone will reveal before my first cup of coffee, and I love it. This morning it was a few texts from one of my pregnant besties. The story of how she had just been completely fondled by the TSA, trying to get on her flight for a work trip.
I totally must have forgotten to brief her on “flying pregnant” protocol. My family and I travel a lot, so I wrote “When Babies Fly”, to humorously review traveling with kids. Today, the prequel, I bring you The Pregnant Terrorist.
First of all, as soon as that baby bump starts to show, you might as well just pull yourself out of the security line. As soon as a TSA agent see’s you waddling up, struggling to get your shoes off, the code is called. I don’t know the exact code, but some agent will be yelling “Blue75” into their shoulder. After the code call, a woman TSA agent will appear, more than likely super annoyed. She was just about to take her lunch break and now she’s going to starve. All because you got knocked up. Everyone’s going to be staring at you, because no one knows what code “Blue75” means. The people behind you in line will huff and puff because they are late for their flight. They’ll shove your bin containing your bag and shoes through like they are doing you a favor. So now that you are officially barefoot and pregnant in the midst of the security terminal, someone will be rummaging through your bag at the end of the line. It has been sitting there for 20 minutes already, so obviously it contains explosives. Or maybe a brand-new iPhone, either way, your problem.
Now comes the exciting part. The feel up, pat down, protruding wand, of the ever so friendly and gracious TSA agent. You may try to smile and make an awkward joke at this point, but don’t bother. There will be no smiles until it is in fact proven, that you do not have a vagina full of TNT. Once everyone is sure there is a baby in your belly, and not a small missile from Russia, you may get your shoes and go. That is if your personal belongings are still at the end of the conveyor belt, dumped among the empty plastic bins. Don’t bother complaining, it’s your choice to travel in “your condition”.
At this point, go to the bathroom, get a soft pretzel, and head to your gate. You don’t have time for anything else. When you show up at your gate observe the confused stares and eye rolls. Everyone sitting there is sure you are going to go into labor on this flight, delay their day, and inevitably ruin their lives. Just eat your pretzel girl, they don’t even know you.
Once you board the plan, take your seat, and put your ear buds in, you can relax. Nope, just kidding. The well-meaning grandmother sitting next to you has a few questions. “O hunny, is it safe to be flying in your condition?” Ummmm yes, I’m pregnant, I don’t have SARS. “O, well back in my day women just didn’t travel when with child.” Yep, and back in your day, women didn’t have the right to vote either. ” So how far along are you?” (Insert # of weeks here) “O wow, are you sure it’s not twins”? At this point feel free to roll your eyes and put your ear buds back in.
You may think that the torture is over, but that’s not true. All of this nonsense has made you tense. Guess what? Baby can feel the tension, so he is going to kick the shit out of your uterus until landing firmly and heavily upon your bladder. You shoot up and gimp toward the restroom, because the left side of your body is asleep. Two rows from the bathroom, a giant man, reeking of Bloody Mary’s, cuts you off. He takes the bathroom, for what seems like 30 minutes. The flight attendant asks you to return to your seat, and you silently pray you don’t piss your pants. After giant “Bloody Mary Man” leaves the 2X3 toilet room, you may have your turn.
In such a hurry to relieve your aching bladder, you didn’t notice the stench upon entering. Don’t worry, all flatulent activity will always be blamed on the pregnant lady. Enjoy the rest of your flight!
Disclaimer: this post was made in humor and fun, in no way to disrespect or disregard our TSA agents or our national security. I am aware and appreciative of the diligence they exercise to keep our nation safe. A smile once in a while probably wouldn’t hurt though.