Monday, July 30, 2012
Why are airports trying to kill my baby?
Lindsay has flown with Addison a lot, mostly by herself. She's kind of amazing and insane that way. But I do hold the record for longest solo flight with Addison, from L.A. to D.C. To be honest, it was okay. But I prepared for that sucker for weeks, drawing up diagrams and schematics and outlining my carry-on inventory and refining it with test-runs (holding an item in front of Addison and seeing if she grabbed for it). For that four-hour flight I had crayons and little stuffed animals and about ten board books and coloring books and headphones and flashlights and finger-puppets and a bazillion snacks and three bottles of milk and baby food and string and stickers and silly putty... and that was just one pocket of Addison's carry-on. You know that scene in The Royal Tenenbaums where Ben Stiller is having his boys do emergency training? Yeah, that was me, in preparation for the flight.
But today, I'm flying alone, which is like a breath of fresh air. I feel almost zen right now. My carry-on isn't stuffed-to-exploding with diapers or wipes or blankies. Just a few changes of clothes and a couple books. That's it. It's hard for me to accept how simple this will be. I might even try to take a nap.
Of course, the downside of not having to fly with Addison is that on our return trip to California, we'll be making a multi-day road trip with Addison in the backseat. Which, now that I think about it, might be even worse than the airport. Wish me luck.