Air NZ flight no. 808SIA (Baby on Board Sorry in Advance)

Flying with a baby. We all have experienced this whether as a mother, or an innocent passenger seated at the window barricaded by an anxious travelling mess who is restraining her little excitable jack in the box on her lap. Contrary to the popular saying, it is absolutely not the journey but rather the destination when it comes to infants in the air.

We had a family trip to Australia planned shortly after Lottie was born. We booked the tickets through Air New Zealand because we actually wanted to get there. Once I got over the initial shock of having to pay 10% of our fare for Lottie’s seat (aka my lap) despite being able to fit two of her underneath the seat in front of us or the overhead locker, I was excited for our holiday in the beautiful Sunshine Coast.

Using what some days seems to be the 2% of my functioning brain left, I took Lottie on two excursions up high in preparation for the haul across the ditch. She was 3 months and 5 months respectively.

It was on her first flight that she achieved the coveted Air New Zealand domestic wings certificate (self defined as a Bachelor of Baby Wings (BBW) double majoring in silence for more than 1 minute and the avoidance of popping ears).

Proud mum moment.

Before each flight I suffered a severe case of self diagnosed preflight mum nausia. The nights were by far the worst, with a blink every few seconds being the only form of shut eye manageable. Between sudden anxious cramps and regular flashes of the worst case scenario (having passengers yelling at me to shut my baby up), I had fleeting dreamy thoughts of missing the flight and avoiding the whole inevitable debarkle.

I eventually put on my big girl pants (my maternity jeans which are perfect any time, especially when seated for long periods as they manage to restrain what used to be a courtesy of Air New Zealand, the muffin top) and made the trips happen.

The weeks rushed by and “stone the flamin crows”(#AlfStewartforPM) the Tran-Tasman escapade was before us. With my newfound knowledge that practise does not make perfect in babydom, I decided to keep my expectations low.

At 7 months old, Lottie was in anything but flight mode. Her communication was by way of grizzle, squark, cry or giggle, she was teething (a dribbling mess incapable of staying dry for five minutes yet ravenous for anything that could fit in her mouth), and in the “food is fun stage” (refusing to eat any purée off the spoon yet insisting she squeeze it between each tiny finger before smearing it over everything other than her bib).

Thankfully for Lottie the carry on limit is 7kg.

Suffice to say, we were not offered any international BBW. Even if there were such a thing there was probably good reason for that. However, there were many factors playing a part in the debarkle:

1. To the herd of catty teenagers who snarled, rolled their eyes and then whispered to each other in the ten seconds they had to check us out before heading back to their instagram feeds, your time will come.

2. To the lady who took a photo of Lottie while I was feeding her without asking, I can only hope that you were brought up by people lacking any form of social conscience. It’s rude. Don’t do it again.

3. To the male air hostess/host(?) who insisted that I put Lottie’s “seatbelt” (which is about as pointless as a farmer who rests his/her (#genderequality) unbukled motorbike helmet on top of his/her cap) on for the descent despite me having lovingly restrained her to sleep after a very public scene (which not even the captain could have missed), you are the sort that drive people to drink.

4. To the lady seated directly in front of us who ate what seemed to be an entire 12 pack bag of Rashun chips with an open mouth and consistently slow chew, please do the next innocent victims a favour and, like any normal person with manners, chose something you an eat quietly. I get that plastic packets are somewhat unavoidable at present, but food without a loud crunch is not.

5. To Air New Zealand and Virgin Air, your inflight change tables are are abysmal and a safety hazard. It would be safer changing an infant on the drop down meal tables. Lottie is petit (only 7kg) yet she managed to cover almost the entire surface area of the table before nearly rolling off into the toilet below.

It is important to end on a positive note because I will need to be courageous enough to fly again. With that said:

1. To each of my boobs, thank you for being my saving grace.

2. To Lottie, who waited right until the last call to board our longest flight to poo, cried almost 60% of the time, refused to sleep and to my amusement (and definitely not spite) squarked loudly every time her father’s head flopped forward just as he slipped into a deep sleep, you don’t know any better and are forgiven. I love you.