Preparing For Take-Off: Part 1

Flying with Sticky Baby =

(Yes, having no MTV factors into my definition of hell. I’m super loyal to crap TV like that)

I’ve never blogged about flying with children before, mostly because I’m still un-curling myself from foetal position, and slowly putting an end to the rocking in a corner, crying, saying ‘No plane, no plane’ repeatedly. Yes. My last flight with Sticky Baby was that bad.

In a nutshell: the noise, the lights, the sounds, the vibrations that everyone swore would lull my child to sleep (freakin’ idiots) turned my baby into a poor little overstimulated bundle of sleepless nerves. He never slept for more than 1 hour in a row. And the voyage lasted an agonizing 25 hours. Do the math, people. I didn’t pee or eat the entire time. I lost 2 kilos on that flight, my sanity, and my ability to see good in the world. Other people suck the big one. No one helped me and some moron was rolling his eyes at me the whole time. I wanted to take his trendy noise-cancelling headphones off his ugly head and ram them up his date.

I was so prepared. Nappy bag was packed to perfection. Bottles pre-measured. New toys ready to be discovered. Comforter. Blankies from home. It all went to shiz when we got delayed 8 hours before even leaving the country. Fail. By the time we boarded at 11:30pm, we had been pacing airport floors since 9 that morning. Oh, and we got stranded on the tarmac a further 45 minutes before finally taking off. During that time, I had to lock myself in one of the mini-bathrooms with a purple-with-rage, screaming, massively over-tired 6 month old. Welcome aboard Shit-Air.

The rare times that he did fall asleep in the provided bassinet, he would be awoken by A-holes that needed to use the bathroom. You see, airlines are super clever like that. They bung the bassinet row right where all the action is. Toilets. Staff galley. What the eff. So it was either a Dubai-an (we were flying Emirates) doing a massive bog and flushing the toilet 6 times or the hissing sound of the galley espresso machine waking my child up. Oh and did I mention the twin 3 year old witches girls that were seated beside me? And their 4 month old brother in the neighbouring bassinet? He, on the other hand was an angel. Which made my plight seem even crueler. 

At one point I did consider chugging half a trolley’s worth of airplane booze and hoping for the best. But I sat it out, hour by hour, soothing my boy, until Sticky Baby and I finally arrived at our destination. Home. Australia. Where my parents and in-laws were there to greet us, and put the pieces back together. Red-eyed and wired from lack of sleep and anxiety, the two of us were not the poster children for flying with kids. Hella no.

I don’t think it always has to be this hard. Keep in mind I was travelling solo, without Papadada. And we were delayed a monstrous amount of hours. And my little guy needs peace, quiet, dark, familiar surroundings to fall asleep. And Enya playing a live concert in his room, please. He’s low-maintenance like that.

The way home was better. Not in a I’m-a-born-again-flyer-with-babies kinda way. Marginally better. I had chamomile tea carefully measured into each of his bottles. I had a bottle of Brauers Calm syrup, and I had the old hood of a stroller that I Ma-Gyver-strapped onto the bassinet, to provide some sort of shield from the bright lights. These all helped tremendously. 

This post was all very NEGATIVE, I realise, but this is the first instalment of a 3 part series! I hear you all whooping with joy. Part 2 will cover our preparations for our up-coming holiday trip back to Australia (4 weeks and counting). Part 3 will relay the reality of said trip. 

Will our theories, ideas, tips, tricks, drugs really work? Can I be turned into the matronly saint of flying with babies?

Stay tuned....