Into the Wild Blue

Tomorrow I pack 5-month-old Elliot and myself onto a puddle jumper plane and head south. Though the flight will last a mere two hours, I’m obsessing over all of the logistics! Everyone I’ve talked to says something along the lines of “flying with a baby is easy… she’ll just sleep” or “relax, everyone else travels with their babies, it’s no big deal.”

Well, mine are the only two kids I’ve ever heard of that don’t consistently sleep in the car, giving me little hope for the plane; and even though everyone does it, everyone also has stories about that terrible woman with the crying baby on the plane.

And for all of you who said, "I flew with my kids, you'll do fine." You could have given me a heads up to begin packing a week early. This baby needs more accessories than a diva!

So wish me luck. I’ve thought through all of the major details, car seat/sling/Tylenol/pacifier (as if she’ll take it)/easy access shirt/snappy comeback if I get seated next to a man that doesn’t approve of nursing in public… I found a reasonably good website with tips for flying with a baby, and my doctor added her own advice on de-pressurizing little ears: the aspirator (nasty blue bulb thing babies hate) as a last resort.

So we’re off. It’s just a two-hour flight rewarded with a long weekend featuring lots of baby viewings (a.k.a. many arms to share baby with) and a family wedding (a chance to dress up, fancy food, good company… perhaps I’ve been cooped up too long, but I’m positively giddy with excitement).

Incidentally, Maya and Joe are far too excited about a daddy-daughter weekend. They clearly have rule-breaking planned (French fries anybody?)….

Wish us all luck!