Last week, my husband and I took our four-month old on a bit of an adventure. We packed up the contents of our home, and had them shipped to San Francisco, California. While the contents are still en route, we have arrived safely. The journey thus far has been quite the experience.
I have never met a “just-right” packer. People either over-pack or under-pack. I am the latter, while my husband is the former. Things tend to work out for us, as such. (similar to Marshall’s “Olive Theory” from How I Met Your Mother). Enter: Baby. The baby weighs a measly 15 lbs; his belongings took up two large check-in bags, totalling a whopping 100lbs. Needless to say, we were WAY over the weight limit for our bags, and spent far too long desperately trying to rearrange contents to make it work. As we steadily trudged through check-in, security, and customs, it appeared we were cutting it very close. So close that we were THAT family. The family racing through the airport, screaming baby, stroller, and all. The speakers blared a last call for the crazy people who were about to miss their flight (not in those words, but they might as well have said that). As on-lookers stared, I stared back helplessly.
I was once in that beautiful glass castle, my friend.
Just like you.
Thinking to myself: what kind of people nearly miss their flight?
The Flight: Why the Hell do People Fly with Babies?
Fed, and upright, our baby was ready for take-off. The pediatrician recommended we preemptively give him Baby Tylenol to prevent any pain due to pressure changes during take-off. So we did. It is my belief that the large meal, followed by the bitter taste of Baby Tylenol, followed by the unique sensation of take-off resulted in the 3-part projectile vomiting that ensued. The flight attendant literally yelled, “OH SHIT!” and ran to get us some hot towels (a genuinely wonderful crew, they were). So they sat there, both dad and baby completely drenched in vomit; dad telepathically trying to switch off the seat belt sign, and baby screaming bloody murder.
A lot of crying, screaming, pooping, and more screaming later, our little angel was fast asleep in my arms. He slept a good 3 hours; and, although, I had lost feeling in my arms, I was content. He awoke from his slumber, played, watched the Wiggles. We have never watched the Wiggles before. It’s interesting, to say the least. Grown men dressed in primary colours wiggling? I had no earphones so I’m not sure if they were saying anything meaningful while they were wiggling, but even if they were, what’s with all the wiggling? I was confused. The baby loved it. Now my husband wiggles to get him to stop crying. It’s hilarious.
A lot of crying, screaming, pooping, and screaming later, we finally landed. Of the 6 hour flight, 3.5 hours were pleasant. I guess that’s not too bad.
We were ecstatic to finally be here.