At the prompting of a concerned friend, I write this brief post to announce that Seabass and I have indeed made it to Idaho alive. That is the good news.
You may remember a post from two weeks ago regarding the terror I felt in anticipation of flying with my 13-month-old Seabass. It turns out I had every reason to fear flying with him: It’s bloody horrific. Rant: Would you believe that TSA requires babies to remove their shoes during security screening? He wears a size 5 shoe and they checked Seabass for explosives. I mean COME ON.
For the first flight, we were seated next to a very nice young woman (a college student?) who read a magazine the whole time. That is, she read a magazine when Seabass wasn’t yanking on it. Or screaming. Or disintegrating with rage when I wouldn’t let him tug the hair of the poor man sitting in front of us.
Yeah, that first flight was pretty much hell on wings. When the stewardess asked for my drink order, I, like a rookie idiot, requested ginger ale for myself and apple juice for a thirsty Seabass. Since he was sitting on my lap, I couldn’t pull the tray table down, so I had to hold the drinks in those clear plastic tumblers they hand out. (note to self: deny the beverage service!) Double-fisting the cups, I attempted to let Seabass drink from one cup while getting a sip or two out of my own. Apple juice cascaded down the front of his shirt (note to self: work on cup-drinking) and then he pulled my ginger ale down all over both of our pants. A whole cup. The wet spot was perfectly positioned to look as though I’d peed my pants. Our skin stuck together from the dried sugar. Oh, oh, I’m starting to twitch just thinking about it.
Seabass wailed during the descent of the aircraft until I donned my nursing cover and let the little dude have a boob. I was willing to do pretty much anything to relax him at that point. I also let him nurse during our 90-minute layover in Phoenix when he wasn’t running around the airport trying to grab everyone’s laptop, food, or SmartPhone. (note to self: next time, bring the Ergo carrier!)
The second flight was easier than the first for a few reasons:
- It was later, so Seabass was pretty dazed
- We had an un-booked seat beside us, offering a little extra space
- Our seatmate was a lovely retired stewardess named Joan who took Seabass on her lap and rocked him while I tried to relax. When I asked her if nursing the baby would offend her, she said, matter-of-factly, “Not at all. Flop it out and let ‘er rip.”
It was so wonderful to disembark the plane and to see my beautiful mom awaiting us at the baggage claim. And it’s been POSITIVELY HEAVENLY to be cooked for, cleaned-up after, and pampered the way Seabass and I have been at Oma and Oompa’s house. So I’m happy to report that being here is worth the pain it took to arrive.
By the by, the little “I’m sorry” goodie bags for my seatmates went over extremely well. Comments included:
“Well, this is a first.”
“What a lovely gesture.”
“Oh, this isn’t necessary!”
and, my personal favorite,
“Can I have another Kit Kat?”