Well, I did it.
I tackled the airplane bathroom.
I successfully changed a poopy diaper - twice - all while scrunched into the inhabitable space that is an airplane bathroom.
Flying with our daughter for the first time was a source of restrained panic for us. We were prepared, having researched the airline's suggestions, consulted with our pediatrician and polled our friends for advice. We wanted to be progressive parents, easily flexible enough to take the challenges and nuances of air travel in stride. Freak about the uncontrollables? Not us. Our daughter is cosmopolitan enough to handle anything. A simple two hour trip at 7 months? Piece of cake.
Except for the inescapable worry that we would be that family. The family that causes an inward groan from all passengers as they board a flight. The family that has people clutching their tickets, praying they don't have seats anywhere near that baby. The family that everyone talks about at baggage claim and vents about in rides from the airport. The family of the - gasp! - screaming child.
The beautiful thing about babies is that they're just that: babies. They express themselves without restraint and are innocent, honest and pure. They're also terrifyingly free to do whatever they want or need to do at any given time. They can screech happily during church. They can exercise loud (and smelly) bodily functions during a party. They can have a meltdown at the grocery store. And they can cry on a crowded flight.
After all of the worry, our daughter did relatively well on her first flight experience. On the outbound flight, she decided to fill her diaper with about twenty minutes to go, just when the captain had illuminated the fasten seat belt light. Her relaxed emission prompted every mom in our area to check her child's diaper while we scurried to bury her in blankets, hoping to muffle the evidence. On the inbound flight, our exhausted child needed two changes and a some soothing before she could sleep. We thought she did remarkably well but my husband and brother came close to decking the annoyed businessman in front of us. At least she has personal bodyguards to defend her honor.
As the plane touched down at home, my husband looked at me with tired eyes and slowly extended his hand for a fatigued high-five. "Well, we did it. But you know what? We're driving to our next vacation."
No argument here.
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