Flying with an infant is never easy. They have strollers, baby seats, clothes, diapers, creams, potions, and unpredictable bathroom schedules.
We flew to to our vacation destination the other day. An hour and a half flight, no big deal. Right? RIGHT? One would think.
Takeoff went smoothly. No problems with ear popping as I was expecting. Suddenly he began crying. His face squished up and turned red in the way only one thing could cause.
No big deal. I got this.
Patiently I looked up expecting the unfasten seatbelt sign to go off at any minute. His face squished up and screaming ensued. Oh no.
The smell began to waft into my nostrils. If you’ve changed a few diapers or have kids, you can discern how messy the product is before you even visualize it. I knew this was the big one. My kryptonite.
No big deal though. I got this.
He began screaming inconsolably. The seatbelt sign was still on. The smell began to burn my nostrils. This wasn’t a small poo. This was the big one. The stuff parenting nightmares are made of.
The young boys in the row next to me put their shirts over their noses. The old man in front of me turned around with a knowing smile. Pity shone in his eyes.
I patted the baby’s leg to console. This was the point I realized the crap was all over his leg. And my pants. And shirt. And his shoes. And his back. And on my arm that was around him. My heart racing, I frantically told my daughter to hit the button for the flight attendant.
Great. The snotty one. HE came over and assumed the baby had thrown up (there was a vomit character to the smell) and brought me a club soda to clean up with, napkins, and a plastic bag. (Check out this article about flight attendants sixth sense about things.)
The poo was never ending. This kid had really shat his pants. For real. A nice person recognized what was going on and sent baby wipes my way. It just wasn’t enough. The seat belt sign was still on! So I did what any parent would do. I poked two holes in the plastic garbage bag (bathroom garbage can size) another put his legs through. I tightened the plastic handles just enough so that the poo would be contained. So my baby wore a chic plastic bag romper for the next ten minutes until the seat belt light turned off. The people around me enduring the smell and witnessing this fiasco told me the bag idea was ingenious (a bunch of parents as well.)
The feces were still on me. Thank goodness I had a change of clothes in my small carry on, and a change of clothes for him as well. You never know when your luggage will get lost! Changing a screaming crap covered baby in a small airplane lavatory is not easy. Nor is changing yourself while the baby clings to you. But I made it.
So that’s the tale of how we joined the mile high club. Hey, no one ever said what kinds of dirty things had to be done on the airplane to become a member!