Fear and Teething at 30,000 Feet

I took my first airplane ride when I was 6.

It was 1986, (a fortunate perk of my birth year that allows me to remember how old I was because the digit in the “ones” column of the year largely coincides with the “ones” digit of my age.) My parents had decided against 1,030 miles in an Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera in favor of putting my sister and me on the shiniest airplane Eastern Airlines had to offer. And aside from an intense ear ache from cabin pressurization, I survived. And it only took me six years of life to prepare.

Clara’s already taken two airplane rides. She’s less than 6 months.

But we’re not here to talk about a baby’s experience on an airplane. Why not? Well, for the most part it’s been largely uneventful. Clara has been well-behaved on both her flights to see Aunt Joanie graduate in Colorado Springs and Uncle Nordberg umm, phone it in on a lake house dock in Charlotte. She’s been happy, eager to look at all the people and things around her, has only knocked one in-flight beverage on Daddy’s shorts, concurs that the oxygen masks that may descend from the console in case of an emergency look ridiculous, and has slept quietly for long periods of time. Flight attendants haven’t had to been flagged down to quiet the vocal midget in Seat 19B, nor has she decided that 30,000 feet above sea level is an ideal to provoke a diaper change. Honestly, we couldn’t be happier, and if this blog was about her, it would now be over at 266 words. At that would be a record of brevity.

Nah….

This blog post, rather, is about the experience of everyone else BUT THE BABY on an airplane. You can tell an awful lot about a person based on how they deal with a baby on an airplane. Don't believe me. Watch this.

An air-bound person's first stop before they can even get a chance to ignore the pre-flight safety monologue is the gate from which the jet will be departing. Now let's assume that I had my act together and got wife and baby to the gate in plenty of time to pick out some prime people watching seats at ole' Gate D7. When someone turns the corner with their carry-on in hand, the reaction is such:

"Oh, how cute! A baby!"

This is a natural response mechanism. God made babies adorable to make stressed out people take a freakin' break. (Well that, and to force grandparents into visiting their immediate children.) So when a weary airport warrior is about to pass out for 40 minutes prior to them calling for Loading Zone 1, they have no other choice but to smile. They sit down across the terminal aisle, and they are pleased.

"Oh God, where's my seat?"

Yep, that's when it sets in. For every adorable baby that ever was, there's been a horribly cranky one on an airplane. Babies have no idea what's actually going on - the projected altitude and cartographical destination have no bearing on when they feed or nap next - so the "cool" factor of air travel does not affect them. All they know is that the temperature was just raised a bit, there's no breeze, and Mom or Dad have insisted on sitting down in a chair that carefully stows their knees deep within their ribcages. And if you remember back to any moment when you've seen such a sight, you may remember an unhappy bystander that is forced to deal with this latest bout of infantile displeasure.

So what do you do? You check your boarding pass. Of course, since the baby has no boarding pass of her own printed on her bib, checking your own pass will be utterly a waste of time. But hey, we understand your need for airborne peace, so the parents of this baby who's showing absoluely no sign of sadness forgive you. Hey, watch what happens when we tickle her.

"Did that baby just giggle aloud?"

Yeah, she did. And once again, you're reminded that babies can be more than Great Aviation Scream Machines. You sit your laptop bag against the chair leg with a sigh of relief. After all, you've calculated that on a 757 jet, you only have a 2.1 per cent chance of being cruelly assigned the seat next to the giggling child across the row. And you know what? Even if I do have that seat, it'll be okay! Babies (giggling ones especially) are awesome!

"We will now pre-board all first class passengers, and passengers with small children."

Oh my Lord, how much stuff do those parents intend on bringing onto the plane? There isn't enough room for a diaper bag, a Baby Bjorn, a blanket, toys, food, SkyMall for Babies, and well, the actual baby. I'll probably have to spend half the flight looking for the kid's pacifier on the floor or wiping goo out my laptop's keyboard. Are those Cheerios between F2 and F3?

You know what? It's too late. Our Almighty Creator has a grudge against me, and I've been assigned the commuting seat from Hell. Here I come, kidd-o. Yeah, I see 17A wide open for my taking. Man, I can't wait to listening to you wax hysterical for the next 1 hour and 23 minutes (plus taxi time) about how the cabin pressurization is hell to pay on your baby eardrums. Here I come, death. Take me now.

(checks boarding pass one more time, only to find assigned seat 27A)

"What an ADORABLE BABY!!!"