Once you think you've mastered the "having a baby" thing at home--working, sleeping, eating, running errands, taking the baby in the car, out of the car, up the stairs, down the stairs, in the seat out of the seat, changing 450 diapers a day, living on 2 hours of sleep, mastering eating, showering and paying all of your bills during your child's 25 minute nap, you get the bright idea to go somewhere. No, I don't mean driving across town to visit a friend, which in itself is an insane outing with a child, but to actually get on a plane and GO somewhere...like...travel. Like, pack up all the sh-t, screw up the schedule and ruin everything you've tried to accomplish...on purpose.
Traveling with a baby is like a military expedition. It takes three weeks to prepare for your mission--planning outfits, buying diapers (overnights, swim and regular), buying enough formula in case you're stranded in a LOST way and have to feed your baby for the next five weeks on a desert island, medication (gas, tylenol, herbal crap for teething that doesn't work, etc.), packing every single toy that will fit in a suitcase -- toys for nighttime, daytime, relaxing time, pool time, bath time, etc. -- and the list goes on and on and on. And by the way, forget yourself. You don't matter--you're just the Hummer designed to transport your little soldier on the greatest adventure of his life thus far and if you wear the same outfit every single day, never put on a stitch of makeup and forget everything that was ever important to you in your previous life, that's just fine. But like war, one can never be truly prepared and with a child, I've found that the greatest surprises come in the form of all too familiar substances...things we're intimate with (some more so than others), things that greet us every day (some more than others) and things that I never thought I'd ever see so much of...yes, you guessed it...
POOP & PEE
No matter what I packed for Max, no matter how many scenarios I'd worked out in my mind, nothing could have prepared me for the spontaneous excretory situations I encountered on this trip.
CASE 1--EN ROUTE TO MAUI-DELTA AIRLINES 08:00 HOURS
I'm doing something I never thought I'd ever do. I'm sitting on the rubbery and kind of wet floor (yuck) of the plane by the kitchen (blech). I have my son on a tiny play mat (which is really the mat I use to change his diaper in disgusting public places) and he's kicking his legs and screaming with delight. He must not be thinking of the botulism I'm sure he'll contract lying there. I've planted myself here for most of the flight and so far, none of the flight attendants have said anything probably because they seem to be enjoying him as much as I am (points for cuteness, Max, score). This seems to be the only way to keep him from crying and squirming and annoying the crap out of me and everyone else around him.
I realize that I need to change his diaper so I reach for my provisions (I have practically enough diapers for the next three hundred days). Mike walks over and asks if he can help me. I naively shake my head 'no' as if to say, "You think I don't have this? Oh, I'm prepared for WAR sir. WAR." The flight attendant reminds me that there's a changing table on one of the bathrooms on the plane and I assure her that "I do this all the time. I'm so fast she won't even know what..." and just then I feel a warm, wet something or other splash me in the face, creep up my sleeve and soak the entire disgusting already icky moist floor around me. Luckily, my reflexes haven't failed me. In this combat situation, I've had the presence of mind to cover my enemy's "member" to distract the flight attendant. She hasn't noticed anything but Mike has. We lock eyes and using our training, we engage the flight attendant in idle conversation so as not to draw attention the goings-on on the floor. Mike asks her about her pomeranians, does she have any pictures (she does, of course and proceeds to whip out her blackberry). As he does this, he tosses me a clean change of clothes for little mister and before I know it, we're wiped up and back in the seat squirming...whew.
CASE 2-ANNOYING TIMESHARE SEMINAR THAT WE HAVE TO GO TO BECAUSE WE'RE STAYING IN A TIMESHARE AND WE GOT SUCKED IN--WESTIN MAUI 1100 HOURS
The sales dude, who's actually doing quite a good job with his pitch, so much so that I kind of want a timeshare in Cancun and I'm trying to decide if we really need to buy groceries every week or if we should buy this timeshare, is about to go in for the kill when Mike and I look at each other, narrow our eyes and in unison, smell our baby's ass...it's go time. But wait, what's that on your shirt? What's that on my skirt? Uh...ew. Um...it's...leaking...it's green...it's everywhere and the enemy is giggling and acting as if he's ENJOYING THIS. The sales dude is so engrossed in the Starwood points system that even he hasn't figured out that a dangerous explosion has occurred. I grab little mister and run out of the meeting leaving Mike stranded with poop on his shorts and an imaginary timeshare mortgage that's already robbing our child of his college education.
CASE 3--DELTA AIRLINES FLIGHT FROM MAUI TO LAX-19:00 HOURS
"We did it," I think, as I look at my delicious son snuggled up in his carseat. The battle was won. I was prepared, focused, I used my training, I didn't get flustered I....sniff...Mike and I look at each other with a sort of "haven't we been here before" smirk. He gets him out of the car seat. I assure Mike that it's nothing, probably just a fart, you know...sometimes the bark is worse than the bite. I go into the enemy's territory (i.e. smelling his tush) and lean back, raise my shoulders and tell Mike, "No...no poop." Mike looks at me and gags. He actually might retch. "Um...you have something...um....what's the on your f...f...face..." I touch my cheek. Green, warm...yes. Yes. THERE IS POOP ON MY FACE. The civilians around us are getting "wind" of the situation. They're grimacing, some turn their heads in horror from the smell, some cover their mouths, others follow Mike's cue and begin to retch...
Again, Mike and I engage in battle. He stands up, hands the baby to me and begins to engage the civilians in idle chat about "those babies...you never know what you're going to get...ha ha. You got kids? No? Don't have any! Just kidding...Where you from?" He continues his standup while I grab the enemy, toss him onto the empty aisle behind me, rip off his clothes, wipe my face, wipe his face and go in for the piece de resistance--my hands working deftly and in two minutes, Mike's best friends with the civilians in the aisle and I've got a fresh as a daisy baby.
I wrap up my ammo, give little mister a wet kiss on the cheek and dare anyone to sit in that seat now.
Breastfeeding is a hell of a lot easier, especially when you're traveling on a plane. And Free. Never fly economy with a baby, you're just asking for it. I fly back and forth to Europe with a baby, it's an experience.
Posted by: Stephanie | January 06, 2011 at 09:22 AM