the long flight home

For as successful as the flight to Mesa was, the flight home was trouble from the start. Ivar was in desperate need of a nap and had figured out he could get quite the reaction from me if he screamed loud enough. When he screamed I would cover his mouth. Which he thought was fascinating, because it made his loud sound quiet. So the moment I removed my hand he tried it again. And again. And again.

We were blessed with an entire row on the way home, but truthfully, this was more trouble than anything. I sat in the middle and wrestled 24 pounds of baby who kept crawling from the window to the aisle and back and forth. I missed our six year old travel friend from the flight out so much. She was a tremendous diversion, I now realized. The flight attendant graciously kept reminding me that he needed to be in my lap at all times, and I smiled and nodded and said things like, "absolutely." And then continued to facilitate my son's physical adventures from one seat to the next.

I force fed him m&m's during the entire landing.

We spilled every single snack. My pants were saturated in formula before the plane even left the ground. You'll note the mix of rice puffs and wheat things on the floor in the picture, as well as one of our toys in the aisle. At some point I gave him some medicine "for his ears" to see if that might help him doze off. It did not.

So, it will be a while before we do this again. I actually had a pretty good attitude, realizing this too shall pass. And it did pass. But again, it will be a long time before I fly solo with my screaming son.