Soon the kiddos and I will hit the road and spend some time with family. Doesn’t that sound pleasant?
It would if it weren’t for the whole hitting the road part. Which is actually hitting the air.
I am about to fly solo with two kids.
I could just end the post right there because what do you say? What?
I flew solo with baby Graham when he was about 4 months old and it nearly killed me. I flew solo with him again when he was nearly a year and that one was a horror show where our flight got cancelled and we were stuck in the airport for around 8 hours BEFORE we ever got on a plane. Our flights since then have been with Eric and even with two of us against one of him, it’s still been a harrowing experience.
Every flight we’ve taken Graham on together has ended up like this at some point, with the two of them passed out from all the effort. I, unfortunately, cannot sleep on planes so I just watch with envy.
Since having two kids I look back at those days when one of us or both of us struggled with our one child with nostalgia. Oh how easy we had it. Oh how simple those days were. I now can’t really understand how one kid gave us so much trouble.
We are flying JetBlue THANK GOODNESS so we get a direct flight, snacks and tv’s which I will allow the Bug to watch constantly if he so chooses. I do not care what he watches. Parental controls be damned. Just as long as he sits there watching and does not extend his mess of snack crumbs outside our row and does not constantly shriek “Choo choo!” as he has been known to do on previous flights.
I need the Bug to be a non-issue because there is a certain baby who is probably going to make my life hell on that plane.
I know that delightful smile says, “Who, me?” And despite my complaints she is becoming a mellow-ish baby. But that is with her playmat, her swing, her links, her teethers and her crib at her disposal. Each day she cycles through all these things–boob, swing, mat, lap, boob, nap–in some order similar to this to keep her as the calm, happy baby we enjoy. How she will be in a tight space for 4 hours is… well… another issue entirely.
Here is my plan. Diaper bag stuffed to capacity. Give the Bug a screen. Stick Tesser on the boob any time she makes a peep and hope she falls asleep there instead of being a fussbudget before she goes down like she usually does. If I have to sit there with a sleeping baby who still has my boob in her mouth for 4 hours, I will do it. And if any passengers give me the your-boob-is-hanging-out stinkeye I will give them back the do-you-really-want-a-crying-baby-on-your-plane stinkeye.
Whenever I find myself in this situation I want to have a special shirt made.
Still, I’m not sure it would win me any fans. Or any sympathy. Because bringing a baby on a plane is generally seen as a crime worthy of jail time.
Believe me, if I could teleport my children, I would. I do not like the attitude among some travelers that the presence of my children is some kind of insult I am directing at them. I understand it. But I don’t like it.
Maybe I would get some nicer looks if I had a shirt that said this:
Still, no matter what shirt I wear I have to survive this flight.
Wish me luck.
You know what I just realized? I completely forgot about getting through the security line. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHH this is going to be a nightmare.