*in some cases

Our first mistake was to change our flight from a Monday to Wednesday. Nina got an ear infection during our trip to Baltimore for a wedding, and the antibiotic she started gave her diarrhea — a dreaded but expected side effect. We thought it would be a good idea to delay our departure by two days, hoping she would start to feel better, and that her gastrointestinal system would get back to normal.

So we moved our departure by two days, on JetBlue 317. Of course, there were no longer any seats available that were together. In fact, we ended up with three middle seats, in three different rows. The helpful woman on the reservation phone line at JetBlue told me not to worry because the people at the airport’s check-in counter have all the power to move people around. We would be assigned seats next to each other for sure, as long as we got to the airport more than 2 hours early.

We left for the airport ridiculously early, and arrived at International Airport Dulles at 2pm, for a 4:45pm departure. That was our second mistake. The not so friendly JetBlue agent at the check-in counter basically told me we’re out of luck. We were stuck with our middle seats… Unless the people at the gate might be able to help. When we got to the gate, after a mad scramble through security with a tired toddler, a crazed little girl who just wanted to go run around outside and play, our hopes of adjoining seats were once again dashed by another not so friendly JetBlue gate agent.

We finally boarded the plane at 5:30pm, after three and a half hours in the airport — with two demons at our sides. Since we were traveling with demons, we got to pre-board. We got onto the plane and waited for the rest of the passengers to arrive, in particular, those in the aisle and window seats in our three rows. The first aisle seat woman said no to a seat swap. We were down to two possible rows. The second aisle man emphatically refused. We were down to our last row. Fortunately, the window and aisle men for our last row came and agreed to a swap. May good karma shine upon them, at least for a while.

With that stressful ordeal over, we were ready to face our third mistake. Nina is too crazy to take on as a lap child.

For the first time since Leila was born, I remember a dream I had last night. Mostly because Nina woke me out of it by crying in her own dream, at 5 am. I’m guessing this dream was influenced by the recap sequence in one of the Battlestar Galactica episodes I watched last night.

Here’s what I remember:

My family, my parents and sibling, and my grandparents, and Carrie’s parents and siblings where all in a huge house which looked like a cross between an old colonial plantation house and my grandparents’ cube like, reinforced concrete, built to last and withstand a direct hit from a 500lbs bomb, bunker of a house in France. We were all there, trying to prepare the house for a nearby nuclear detonation. I remember I had to go around the house to close all of the wooden shutters. I remember feeling stressed that I wouldn’t get to all of them before the impending attack. As I was about to close the last one, I saw the distant white flash of light, followed by the muffled sound of the detonation a few seconds later. I finally closed the shutter as the blast wave was about to hit the house… then Nina cried in real life, and saved me from my own mind.

A few weeks ago, I was commenting to a friend who was recounting a nightmare of hers, that she was lucky to be able to remember her dreams. Now, I’m rethinking that thought. I do miss my dreams, but when it comes to the ones like last night’s, I’ll be happy to continue on not remembering them.