Flying with an infant

*I have a few posts I've been working on since Axton and I returned from our travels back in July. I am only just now finishing this one, and have more to come.

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Traveling with an infant is hard. Traveling with an infant... by yourself? It's nearly impossible. Buuuuut we did it.

We flew on three different airlines, had three different destinations, and had a lay-over with each one - which meant getting on and off an airplane 6 times total.

We left our house on July 11th at 5am. I had Axton in a front carrier, his diaper bag strapped over my shoulders, my duffel bag wheeling behind me, and his carseat delicately placed ontop of my bag. As we walked away from Adam, I felt like I was balancing a stack of books on my head - one wrong move and it would all come crashing down. But still I risked a glance back at Adam, and it was then that I realized how crazy this whole idea was. It felt like a movie scene - the camera zooming in on me, my eyes growing wide and a look of panic crossing my face. What the heck was I thinking? And I turned my head back, and kept walking.

I carefully rolled and dragged everything along with me to the check-in lines, but still my bag managed to tip to the side. And we all know it's impossibly difficult to get a too-heavy wheely bag right-side up after it's already in the wrong direction, taking your hand and wrist along with it. But I sacrificed the comfort of my wrist and somehow got it on its wheels again (with no help from the man behind me, clearly seeing me struggle). I was just breathing a sigh of relief as I stood at the end of the line when I heard a voice behind me. It was still pretty early for me, so it was one of those times where you don't recognize English. (Does that ever happen to you? Or is it just me?) I seriously thought he was speaking another language, so I ignored him. Three times I ignored him, and about 5 seconds after the third time it finally registered in my brain that he was not, in fact, speaking Indian, and that he was, in fact, speaking to me. In plain English.

"Your shoe is untied."

My shoe is untied? That's what you wanted to tell me? So helpful. Especially after he just saw me struggling so much.

"Oh," I said sticking my leg way out in front of me so I could actually see it over Axton (it was like I was pregnant all over again!). Well indeed it was untied. But there was NO WAY I was going to bend down and tie it, what with the balance of the entire universe resting on my suitcase, my child, my diaper bag, and his carseat.

"Thanks." I said, and shrugged.


When we finally were able to check in my bag and his carseat, things got a bit easier. All I had to deal with now was my child and his diapers. Easy enough right? Even security wasn't that bad, (since my shoe was already untied, and everything) and they let me keep him in his carrier while I went through the metal detector.

I even sent my mom this picture and the text: "I'm so lucky! He is so easygoing!"

And while I am lucky and he is easygoing, the hard parts weren't even close to being over yet.

Because then he got hungry and needed a diaper change and I got hungry and needed to go to the bathroom.

Well, so, we found a nice quiet area and I whipped out my boob apron and we did our thing, as (in)conspicuous as ever, of course. And that in itself really is an accomplishment, especially now that Axton's arms flail all over the place and he has to eat out of both sides and I have to balance his too-long body on my too-short lap while I go through FOUR layers of clothing to get his food available to him. Ho-hum, old news.

Then we go to the bathroom to change him, and that's when we find the nice side room with a locking-door and a chair for nursing mothers. Well....that would have been nice. But I remember to look for this in future airport bathrooms. Now I've got to get him out of his carrier, which means hoisting him over my shoulder so I can pull it off his chunky little thighs, holding one leg at a time so he doesn't fall down my back. I change his diaper and place him back over my back and get him re-settled into his carrier - it's all so tedious and time-consuming for such silly little things - and now it's my turn to go to the bathroom.

I feel bad that the poor kid's got to just sit there, his legs draped over mine so they aren't in the line of fire, while I use the toilet. But what else was I supposed to do? I wouldn't trust a single soul to hold my child while I do this, and I am not putting him anywhere near the floor - so attached to me he must be while I pee. I have to fumble one-handed with my belt a bit (A LOT) as it sits directly underneath his 15 pound body, but we make it work.

After everyone (him and I, that is, but it sure felt like a whole lot more than just two people I was taking care of, especially with how much I was sweating!) was both fed and drained, it was time to board the plane. And since I was traveling with a child, I was able to board among the first. Which meant that the majority of the plane walked past Axton and I, saw that they were lucky enough to be on a flight with an infant, and gave me "the look." You know, the one that says they are clearly not going to enjoy their flight now and it's all my fault?

And why must they give the woman with the baby a window seat? Everyone knows we're going to have to get up and down and up and down so why do they insist on shoving me in the corner? I hate it when everyone is juuuust getting settled in and turning on their ipods and leaning their seats back and maybe even closing their eyes already, and then here I come, a fake smile underneath my wrinkled nose: "Sorry....do you mind? We have to go to the bathroom."

And we really did have to go to the bathroom because, although I had just breastfed my baby in public prior to boarding the plane, I simply could not do it sitting this close to two other (male) strangers. Our elbows were touching, for goodness' sake! I wasn't about to bring out the goods, even if my apron was "covering" things.

I did try. I even got as far as reaching into the diaper bag, pulling out the apron, and setting it on my lap. And then I let it sit there for a few minutes. And I thought a lot of thoughts in those minutes - that, really, it's not a big deal and frankly I should be able to do this wherever and whenever I please and no one should really be all that uncomfortable about it. And then my nose scrunched up again and I shook my head and stuffed the apron back in the bag. I couldn't take him to the bathroom to feed him since we were required to be in our seats at that time. Instead I brought out a bottle of milk and gave that to Axton.

Since I had given Axton a bottle instead of feeding him from myself, I was feeling pretty.....tight......near the end of the flight.

Oh, who am I kidding? "Tight" is a huge understatement. My chest was literally rock-hard and nearing explosion. The soreness was getting to the point that even my armpits were hurting and I could hardly raise my arms above my head. So we made the nice gentlemen get out of their seats ("Sorry, so sorry....thank you...sorry..thanks.....sorry.................thanks") so we could go to the bathroom this time. After releasing the pressure (hallelujah!) I figured I might as well change Axton's diaper while we were here. I turned around and realized....this was going to be difficult. How - and where - was going to balance him? I ended up putting him on the top of the toilet cover (ew, I know. But at least I had a diaper changer cover pad thingamabober - doodad to go underneath him). Things got a little hairy and scary during some turbulence and he very nearly slipped right off that toilet but I caught him just in time (gosh, mother-of-the-year award, right here, huh?). Of course the "Fasten Seatbelts" sign came on in the middle of everything and I started panicking, worrying that a flight attendant would be banging down the door any second now and my son wasn't diapered and I wasn't even fully clothed yet and just what would I do then?
But no flight attendant knocked and we quickly pulled ourselves together, made the two nice gentlemen get up once again ("Sorry, thanks. Sorry. Every. Time.), and then we buckled up.

And all this was just flight number one.

We barely made our connecting flight, and then did it all over again. Then I had a week break while visiting my mom in Idaho before having to do it again, this time heading to Minnesota. And finally, after one week with my dad, we were on the trip home.

Axton really did do amazing on all the flights. He didn't cry at all (thanks to his pacifier that he loves) and I received several compliments on his happy attitude, as well as a few "How old is he? Eight months? .....Oh my! He's only eight weeks? Well, I was a bit off!"

Only one lady made me really mad.

It was my last airport, checking in my last bags to go home. She asked to see proof of age for Axton, so I handed her his birth certificate. She was tapping away on the keyboard and then all of a sudden she started laughing.

Wondering what could be so funny about my son's birth certificate, I gave her a furrowed-eyebrows look.

"He's only 10 weeks old?"

"Yep."

"......."

"....." I still didn't see what was funny about that.

"Oh my gosh! He was NINE POUNDS ELEVEN OUNCES?" She said this, my friends, while still laughing.
LAFF. ING. She was laughing at me, at my baby, at his size. Laughing so much, in fact, that it grabbed the attention of the attendant one computer over - who happened to be a guy.

"What so funny?"

"This baby was NINE POUNDS!"

Again, all I could do was stare at her with my head cocked to the side, my brows knitted in disbelief, and the only word coming out of my mouth: Yep.

The guy said, "Is that big?"

Which, of course, made the woman laugh even harder. "Oh yeah that's big!"

"Does that make you just shudder at the thought of it?" the man said. I definitely wanted to punch him then. What did he know? How could he even make a comment like that?

"Psh, yeah!" Laugh, laugh, giggle, giggle.

I did not find any of this funny. "Yep." Again with the yep. "He was a big boy. Vaginal, too." Real proud of that one. I snatched his birth certificate back as quick as I could and walked away.

And then I cursed her with a million thirty-pound babies that all had colic and acid reflex.




Anywho. Bottom line for traveling with babies:

• Look in the airport bathrooms for nursing rooms - some of them have one and some of them don't. 
• Use a front carrier so you can have your hands free (LIFESAVER!)
• Double check with your airline about how they handle Infant Plane Tickets. They all do it differently - some you have to call in with the baby's information after purchasing your ticket, some you can add online, some don't need anything, but most need a birth certificate.
• People, for the most part, are pretty understanding. The majority of them are parents themselves and have gone through exactly what you're going through. They won't hate you as much as you think they will if your child screams the whole flight. Only just a little. And even if they do, so what? They will move on and forget about pretty quick.
• Look in the airplane bathrooms for a diaper changer table (so you don't have to change your kid on the toilet seat). Some of them have one, and some of them don't. 
• Use a bottle, pacifier, or, if you're brave, a breast, to give baby something to suck on while the plane is going up and coming down - this will help their ears with the altitude changes.
• Carseats and strollers are free to check in! Also, with some airlines, you are allowed one additional carry-on item besides the bag used for baby (such as the diaper bag). And liquids used to feed the baby (breastmilk, formula) or also allowed on flight. 
• One friend suggested having earplugs to hand out to the people sitting next to you. I didn't do this but I bet it might help make friends faster!