Last night we were flying home from LA, where we had spent a wonderful 2 days with old friends and feeling nostalgic about our previous life on the West Coast, when I started to count up all the flights Noah has taken. At just shy of 23 months of age, Noah has taken a staggering 25 flights! 12 of these flights have been international flights and the flights have ranged in length from 1.5 hours to a whopping 22 hours.I then began to notice the irony that on his flight, the one flight where I did not throw into our hand luggage a change of clothes for me, that I came to be covered in vomit in the first hour of the 6 hour flight. I consider myself a well-seasoned traveller. I know the procedure for going through the TSA security check-point to a tee. I can manage it with a toddler strapped to me, pregnant and juggling milk, medications and computers. I know to wear slip on shoes, to pack the milk and medications at the top of the bag for easy removal, to put the computer in a tray on its own. I know that planes can be cold and to pack extra socks, a cardigan, a wrap to throw over a sleeping baby, enough books, colouring-in equipment and snacks to entertain a child ranging from 3 months to 23 months. I know to have extra milk on hand in case of delays, a screaming child or being unable to find a grocery store that is open when we land at midnight. I know to pack some infant tylenol (panadol) and nasal spray in case of unforseen congestion or fever mid-flight. I know to pack extra nappies, wipes and changes of clothes for the baby, because planes and cabin pressure can reek havoc on children's digestive systems (I learnt this from sitting next to my nostoriously motion sick sister on every family trip we took as kids). And I know to pack extra clothes for myself - a t-shirt and a pair of leggings.
And yet, here I was at 35,000 feet, an hour into our flight home from LA, 6 months pregnant, a heightened sense of smell, and stinking of vomit combined with the scent from the aloe vera baby wipes. No leggings, no clean t-shirt. Just the prospect of another 5 hours on the plane plus the ride home before I could shower and change. Meanwhile, Noah was smelling minty fresh. He had been washed and cleaned, had a new set of pyjamas on, and was happily snoozing between Nathan and I.
My only consolation, was that Nathan spilled gin and tonic all over his crotch mid-way through the flight. We then smelt like the aftermath of a very boozy night out, just without any of the fun, good food or boozing. Just swollen ankles, back aches and bad in-flight movies.
