Flying!

By Phil

Flying with a baby is never a relaxing experience. Having now done three cross-country
trips with the little guy, he is (and by extension we are) experienced enough that
it's not painful.

If you ever get stuck behind us in security, don't fret. We have it down to a science and
we fly through without a problem. The only thing that slows us down is my refusal to go
through the full body scanner. Angie holds our son through security so she automatically
gets to go through the metal detector. However, as a form of protest, I always opt-out of
the full body scanner and get the pat down. I'm not going to turn this into a political rant,
this blog isn't the platform for it. I will just point out that the first time I opted out, the TSA
agent angrily asked me (paraphrasing), "Do you tell the cop who pulls you over what
you were doing wrong before he asks?" I didn't much appreciate the implication that I
was somehow guilty of something simply because I didn't want to submit to a virtual
strip search. I'm getting sidetracked. Sorry about that.

The point is, when going through security we are like lightning, except for my pat down,
which only holds up my family, not the people behind us. It's the one aspect of flying that
we haven't had a problem with since the beginning.

The actual flying, though, took some work. Our first flight, back at Christmas when our
son was only 5 months old, was absolutely horrible. We were that family with that baby.
It was a cartoonish depiction of the crying baby that you see in sitcoms.

Tucson has a small airport by most standards, which means that nearly everywhere we
want to go is going to involve a connection through a larger hub city. That first leg was
two hours of non-stop screaming. We tried absolutely everything we could think of to
stop the crying. We tried feeding him, singing to him (something that I've written about
before that always works), gave him toys that he loved, gave him new toys we brought
along for just such an occasion, everything. It didn't matter.

We worked our butts off for two hours straight with no success. We were fried. I'm sure
everyone else on the plane was too. I felt like I had run a marathon... under water...
without a respirator. (Hyperbolic enough for you?)

So when we landed late and rushed to our connection, a flight they were holding for us
and a few others, we were exhausted and dismayed to see that there weren't two seats
together anywhere on the plane. There were plenty of middle seats open but it looked
bleak when it came to sitting together, something that would have been avoided if our
original plane would have arrived on time.

We stood in the aisle looking wild-eyed and feral, asking if anyone would be willing to
take a middle seat so we could sit together. My wife explained that if we sat together
we'd have a better chance of keeping our baby calm.

Crickets.

No one would even look up or make eye contact. They were all determined to sit there
and ignore us. My wife pleaded a bit more. A woman in a full row yelled, "C'mon.
Someone help them out. It's Christmas."

Nothing.

We were at our breaking point by then, having just fruitlessly worked to keep our son
from crying and then getting the stonewall from the other passengers. I angrily declared
(not my proudest moment), "When he cries, it's now everybody's fault!"

Angie pointed to a seat next to where she was standing and said, "Miss, do you mind if I
sit in that seat next to you?" She then turned to me and said, "I'll take the baby first."
I handed him over and suddenly the woman's cell phone wasn't as interesting as it had
been for the entire five minutes before that. She "graciously" gave up her seat with the
thinnest veil of sincerity I've ever seen. "Oh, I'll move so you can sit together."

The other passengers were playing a game of chicken, seeing who could hold out the
longest or which seat we'd pick before making a move.

We got settled into our seats when another couple from our first flight came aboard and
passed us by. As they made their way towards the back, they gave us a look of horror,
anticipating what was about to come.

Luckily, our son spent all of his energy screaming his lungs out on the first flight. As
soon as the door closed on the second leg, he fell asleep and stayed that way for
almost the entire trip. As we were getting off the plane, we received several
compliments from other passengers.

"That's because you weren't on our other flight," I wanted to reply.

It was a complete and completely welcome turn around between the two legs. And it's
been relatively calm every flight since. It hasn't been easy; he gets bored, moves
around, wants to touch everything (including anyone sitting next to him). Digging food
and toys out of our bags isn't a cakewalk in those tiny spaces and we're always tired
coming off of the plane. But compared to that first flight, he's been an angel ever since.

We've gotten at least one compliment on every flight since that first one. As a parent,
that makes me feel like we may be doing something right. And as any parent knows,
we'll take those moments any time we can because learning how to be a parent so often
feels like doggie paddling in jello. It's a struggle and even when you're pretty sure
progress is happening, you can feel awkward and self-conscience. I think I overworked
that metaphor. You get my sentiment, though, hopefully.

Next week I'll revisit air travel one more time so I can talk about strangers and how they
think I'm great. If only they would tell my wife... (That's a joke! I'm joking!)

Also: Two posts in one week? What's the meaning of this? Mondays have become more
convenient for Doug, so the two of us have switched days. I'm now the Friday guy.
Change is scary but we can get through it together if we have open communication.