Well, I took an unintended blogging break. I just haven’t had much to discuss lately besides how we’re suddenly missing 75% of our facecloths and that’s hardly riveting. However, on Tuesday Annabelle and I flew to the land of my birth for a visit so naturally I have to discuss the 12 hours we spent traveling because, as they say in Fiddler on the Roof, TRADITIOOOOOOOOON.

I know some people are perfectly comfortable gallivanting ’round the country with their offspring in tow, but I am not. I polled people on how to successfully travel with an infant and read almost more articles on the topic than I read on pregnancy. I was so nervous that if it could go wrong it would. I had so many visions of the baby throwing up all over herself, me and our seatmate (or getting stranded in the Philadelphia airport, or her screaming for 4 hours straight) that I almost throw in the towel and canceled the whole trip. I hope Annabelle gets the if things get tough, just give up trait from me. It’s a really great character quality. As these things go, I thought I had considered everything that could go wrong when at the last minute Christopher couldn’t bring us to the airport so I had to drive. CUE THE PANIC. That’s the Army for you. Their motto is “Changing Plans, Causing Panic Since 1784”. Now not only did I have to worry about packing enough diapers, getting us through security, and pushing the stroller and pulling the luggage, I had to worry about finding the parking lot, locating the correct shuttle and let’s just never leave the house. Long story short (you’re welcome), we found the parking lot and made it through security without tears. Annabelle didn’t cry either. 


I normally try to limit Sesame’s pacifier to sleeping times and the witching hour so she thought she was living the life as I let her have it all day. She got through the entire first flight without making a peep thanks to Mr. Lion. It’s a pity she wasn’t more comfortable strolling through the airport.

I couldn’t do all the work on the trip. I made her carry my water bottle.

The one bonus of flying with a baby is that for the first time ever I got to board with the high and mighties who sit in first class. Silver linings, folks. All that extra time gave us an opportunity to take a picture before we were joined by our fellow coach (aka the commoners in the back) passengers. 

Yet another subpar cellphone photo to add to my collection.

The second half of our day was a little more turbulent. Our connecting flight was delayed by almost an hour and Annabelle was ready to call it a day. The flight to Boston was chock full of successful business people with briefcases and big paychecks. Then there was me, bouncing a crying baby wearing a flower headband and singing If You’re Happy and You Know It. I fit right in. When we finally boarded the plane, I settled back for a nap then realized that she had pooped up her back. I took care of that only to have her start crying because she was hungry. I started to nurse her but the blanket had a mind of its own and I’m pretty sure the two men across the aisle got a little show. I never made eye contact with them again. 


We survived the trip with Annabelle receiving 412 compliments and me gaining two new gray hairs. When I was doing my hair I noticed two new BRIGHT WHITE AND VERY REAL hairs. If such joking makes things become a reality than I will never again joke about gray hair.


Dad had never met Annabelle and didn’t know we were coming. I rang the doorbell and held her up so he could see her through the window when he came to the door. It was a priceless moment. Almost worth my multiple new white hairs.