A baby is the only time bomb you’re allowed to carry onto a plane without being cavity-searched by a disgruntled TSA worker.
And never was a truer word spoken. Ever.
Perhaps more helpfully, other writers expanded on tricks of the trade on how to get through a flight with an infant. Feeding/sucking on take off & landing helps babies pop their ears (basically forced yawning). So we boarded the plane with a deep breath, armed with, three bottles, a dummy & two boobs. And our day went like this…
11am get out of house on time with very minimal fuss. Feeling relieved.
12:15 hop on Gatwick Express with time to buy lunch. Feeling relieved, even calm.
1pm realise a bottle has leaked all over hand luggage. Feeling less calm. & not enjoying the smell.
2pm mooching round ‘the other side’ killing time. Baby Girl good as gold. Feeling smug (pretending bottle incident didn’t happen).
3pm flight slightly delayed. Feeling annoyed.
4pm flight delayed by an hour. [Enter list of expletives aimed at Easyjet]
4:15 sat on tarmac. Baby Girl giving signs she’s hungry. We try to distract her.
4:30 still sat on tarmac. Baby Girl getting grumpy, “don’t ignore me, I’m being very clear with my signals. And what’s this thing you keep giving me to suck on? That’s no use to me. Stop messing around.” Feeling anxious.
4:45 finally starting to taxi. Baby Girl balling. “Give me the milk!!” Feeling anxious & cruel.
5pm lift off at last & Baby Girl guzzles her bottle with no complaint. Then she signals she wants more. We give her a second bottle, surprised at how much she’s putting away but happy she seems happy (& quiet!).
7:10 (French time) we start to descend. Cue boob, bottle & dummy enticing. Baby Girl refuses all & screams her head off. Feeling helpless.
7:45 walk through Passport Control & Baby Girl is sick. Three times. Everywhere. All over the floor. All over me. Down my top, inside my bra, all over herself. About all I can think to say amidst the shock of how much sick she’s produced is, “thank God I tied my hair up today.” Oú es la toilet…