Here’s A Toddler-Flight-From-Hell Story To Make Those Of You Traveling Today Feel Better
Are you traveling on a holiday, with children? There should be some kind of trophy for that. There isn’t. You know what you’ll get, though? Extra annoyed stares from travelers who have been subjected to long lines and massive crowds and have even less patience than they normally do. Yay!
Eventually, every parent has the flight from hell. I hate to burst your bubble — but it will happen. In case it happens today, I’ve decided to share the story of my flight from hell with my toddler. It happens to the best of us. It really does.
My kid was almost two. He’d been on plenty of flights, but his father had always been with us. It’s always better to approach flying with a toddler in pairs. But on this particular occasion, he couldn’t make the trip with us. I was desperate to squeeze in one more free flight before my child turned two.
We’re getting ready to leave the house, and I am scanning all of the crap that I am responsible for Sherpa-ing around. Carseat check. Luggage check. Diaper bag check. Purse check. Stroller check. Oh, and toddler. Can’t forget him. How in the hell am I going to do this alone? I push the impossibility of the situation out of my mind, and my husband helps us to the taxi.
I’m repeating a happy-voiced mantra to my child. Something about having an amazing day! He looks skeptical. I strap him into his carseat and the driver begins heading to the airport. I start to notice there is a smell so thick in the car, I’m actually tasting it. It’s a combination of vanilla, lavender, burning plastic, bile and flowers. I look at the rear-view mirror and see three of those Christmas tree-shaped air fresheners hanging from it. Then I notice a gaggle of them shoved into my side door pocket. I count them – eleven. There are about eight more shoved into my son’s side. What the hell kind of smell is this lady drowning out? I begin to worry that she’s transporting dead bodies in the trunk. I start to feel queasy.
I’ve counted 22 air fresheners. I look at my son — he looks sleepy but okay. About 30 seconds later, I notice that god-forsaken pooling of saliva in his mouth, that indicates he will be puking all over the place shortly. My brain realizes this is about to happen, my body fails to react. All of a sudden, vomit starts shooting out of his mouth and nose. He’s covered in it. The driver pulls a roll of paper towels out of nowhere. I contemplate beating her with it for this air freshener debacle. Deep breaths.
We finally arrive at the airport where I change my son’s puke clothes right on the curb. I try to clean the carseat — it’s still totally disgusting. We check the luggage and head through security with no major problems. We board the plane and I breathe a sigh of relief, just knowing that the worst must be over. My son is a great flier, and I’m confident he will fall straight to sleep.
I make the mistake of shuffling the bottle around in my bag before takeoff. Now he’s seen it and wants it. We haven’t even started taxiing yet, I’m just praying he drinks it slowly. He doesn’t.
He’s now empty handed, pissed, and giving no indication that he’s tired. All of a sudden, a sound I’ve never heard comes out of his mouth. Apparently this sound can only be made in an aircraft cabin, because I never heard it before, and haven’t heard it since. The people around me have begun to express their annoyance. Oh great. This is gonna be a looooong flight. I resist the urge to scream,You think this is going to be a long flight for you? I’m responsible for demon child’s exorcism! Have a shot and put your headphones on, jerks! Instead of doing that, I decide to apologize profusely (and disingenuously) and resume trying to calm the beast beautiful child that I gave birth to and love immensely.
The flight attendants are angels sent directly from god to help me in my time of need. They hand me another bottle. I shove it in my child’s mouth even though I know he doesn’t need it. It works – he drinks it and falls asleep. A few minutes go by, and I feel something. I realize that I have given Lucien two bottles in the last half hour. He has peed all over me. Whatever – I’m already covered in vomit, so who really cares? I let him sleep and decide to deal with it when he wakes up.
He actually sleeps for most of the flight and I am totally thrilled even though I’m pretty sure there’s puke in my hair and my pants are now soaked in urine. Whatever. We head to the bathroom when he wakes up to change his soaked diaper. He refuses to lay down on the changing table in the tiny bathroom — I can’t say that I blame him. I decide to change him while he’s standing. I remove his diaper, and almost immediately a steady stream of urine hits my torso. Now I’m pretty much soaked from head-to-toe in piss.
We emerge from the bathroom, and the flight attendant stops me and says, I am so sorry. I just spilled an entire Sprite on your seat. Your sweater and your baby’s stuffed animal are soaked. Apparently she’s expecting me to freak out, because the look on her face is of sheer horror. I say, I am covered from head to toe in piss and puke. Sprite is actually a welcome addition to this. It’s fine. We land. I wrap my soaked sweater around my waist, hoist my vomit and pee stained offspring onto my hip and head to freedom.
Moral of the story, no matter how bad the flight is — it always comes to an end. Eventually.
Happy traveling!
(photo: NicoENino/ Shutterstock)
