Friday II: Flying Home from California

Now that all is said and done, my flight home from California alone with John (as Chris had gone back a week earlier) went very well. But I couldn't have known that at the time, so--as is my temperament--I was a bit tense until I was home, collapsed in my own bed.

John and I said goodbye to Grandpa in the morning before he set off for work. Then my stepdad took me to the airport, where he obtained a Gate Pass to help me. Handling just one baby, one suitcase, one duffel bag, and the stroller was quite awkward and I was very grateful for Grampa Neil's help. He called Chris after seeing me off and confessed that he watched my plane fly away until it was a little dot in the sky.

On the airplane, I was absolutely surrounded on all sides by male passengers and, as the flight was overbooked, I was not allowed to change seats. Nonetheless, my nursing modestly went very well, I think!

John barely cried at all on the flight and, except for my standing in the aisle and swaying him a lot, he did not require much work on my part.

That is, until The Great Poop Blowout of 2007. (It may be presumptuous to title the event such as we're only in March, but I'm ever hopeful!) Let me set the scene: I was already exhausted from caring for John by myself for seven days and now I faced flying across the country alone with an 15-week-old. John had had a pretty bad cold for three days and I had woken up that morning having succumbed to it. I'm nursing and didn't have enough time to research what cold medications I could take, so I didn't take any and had to suffer my symptoms in that dry air and bad pressure during the flight.

The flight was going along fine and John was nursing when I felt a rumbling in my lap. Then I felt a heat spreading fast. I quickly grabbed a cloth diaper I was using as a burp cloth and slid it under John's rump before I surveyed the damage. I couldn't tell the extent of matters, but knew there had been a serious diaper blow-out. I can be a Nervous Nellie in general, but when it comes down to serious business, I do pretty well under pressure, in crisis scenarios.

Using one hand to hold John on my lap, I dug through my diaper bag for the wipes, new diaper, plastic bag to contain the dirty diaper, and plastic bag containing the new outfit. John was not in his sling, so I had to carry all the aforementioned items in my right hand, while holding John pinned against my chest with the burp cloth between us in my left hand and maneuvering down the narrow aisle. There was a great amount of turbulence during the entire flight, and thus my ordeal, due to serious storms over the Midwest.

I got to the miniature-scale airplane bathroom and surveyed the area. Despite searching thoroughly, I did not see a baby changing table which would fold out from the wall. So, all the while holding the very poopy John, I set down the diaper and wipes on the tiny shelf next to the sink. Then I put the toilet seat and lid down and sat down on it, bracing my feet against the frame of the door about two feet off the ground, so that my long skirt would create a hammock in which John could lie. Once John was in his "hammock," I used two hands to tie the two plastic bags on the security bar (like a disabled person's handles in a tub or bathroom) on the wall, allowing me easy access in and out of the bags.

Now was time to ascertain the real damage. As I peeled off John's clothing, I learned that the copious poop rose all the way to the nape of his neck and back down his arms. All I had protecting my clothing was one cloth diaper! I can hardly describe what happened next, but each move was precise, like a ballet dance or a battle plan. I used the sink as my temporary deposit of poopy clothes, diaper, and wipes (so many wipes!). Somehow I got my wriggly, ~15-pound boy naked except his clean socks and held him, standing up in my lap, using only one hand and in spite of the turbulence, so that I could wipe down his entire body. Then I got a clean diaper back on him and a clean outfit over that. All the poopy refuse went in one plastic bag and all the poopy clothing went in another. When all was said and done, I had only gotten the icky mess on two one-inch diameter spots on my dark skirt, so the spots hardly showed.

And, before anybody tells me, yes: later when I examined the bathroom door, I saw a sign for a fold-out baby changing table. So I went inside and searched again and this time found the oh-so convenient table. Too bad, as I could have used it!

I actually came out of the Great Poop Escapade feeling warm with confidence. If I could handle this by myself, I could handle more! It's so true that God does not burden us with more than we can bear.

When I got off the plane, my dear husband had obtained a gate pass and was waiting for me with a picnic of cheese pizza and a chocolate shake! The day almost ended perfectly, but after John not crying more than a few minutes on a plane flight from one coast to the other, including waiting time at both airports, he screamed bloody murder for the hour-long drive home. That boy does hate his car seat!