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Some unsolicited flying advice…

April 16, 2010

We have been in Melbourne, Australia now just over a week. In many ways it seems longer, with the misty clouds hanging on the mountains, the walks in the rain along the Yarra River, lots of hot drinks and sleeping under multiple layers. In many ways it seems way too quick, it SUCKS to catch up with friends once a year for 2-3 hours. A little less than two weeks before we go and already I plot how to try to stay just a leeeeetle longer.

But this is a post that I meant to write last Thursday. But I simply couldn’t face it. A post that goes out to all the parents who fly with children, screaming children, that I have in the past ignored (or tried to), or worse silently complained about. I. Am. So. Sorry.

For finally I was that mom. Nick was that dad. Jarah was that baby spawned from the 9th circle of hell. Never mind being a traitor Dante, mind throwing a temper tantrum (or 4-5) on a long haul flight. It started with a missed nap time. Followed by an exciting 30 min connecting flight to Honolulu (filled with wowowowowow’s of the ocean views). Then came a long wait to lunch. Loading onto ANOTHER plane (this time it was not so wowowowowow) and sitting while we made the world’s longest taxi. We were not even airborne before the tears, sweat and spittle were flying. One couple changed seats before we leveled out. I felt calm. Like facing a firing squad. Really what’s the option?  We were banking south and heading to a new hemisphere, screams or no screams. Might as well be zen right?

About 5 hours later I felt a little bemused.

Around 7 hours later I felt a little dizzy.

Around 8 hours later I believe I wept.

Around 8.5 hours later I watched Jarah fisty punch a kindly older woman in the right breast after she tried to cuddle him.

Around 9 hours later I ate chocolate ice cream (Hawaiian Airlines serves Ben and Jerry’s, thank you!)

Around 9.3 hours later I fed Jarah two tubs of chocolate ice cream.

Around 9.5 hours later I watched Jarah fall asleep.

Around 10.5 hours later I was waking Jarah up to get off the plane.

Around 11.5 hours later I was trying to rationalize if I could drink a beer and the new baby in the oven wouldn’t mind too much, I didn’t.

Word to any parents flying with small children. Breast feed. Forever. At least until they are 5. I foolishly stopped with Jarah at around 14 months once I found out I was pregnant again and felt my boobs might appreciate a little alone time. Too bad boobs. The fountains of plane flying baby nirvana are going to stay in commission until Baby #2 is grown enough to sit through the 2,349 rounds of Old Maid it takes to fly from Honolulu-Sydney.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Courtney permalink
    April 18, 2010 5:51 am

    Wow!! I haven’t read your blog in forever…you’re pregnant! Congratulations!!

  2. Petrina Burrill permalink
    May 10, 2010 4:51 am

    Brilliant! very funny lea. I love your Blog. You are one funny woman. keep writing- you make me laugh-one day a book i bet! very funny! xo

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