Welcome to Mommy Mondays, the one day of the week when I talk about this whole parenting thing.
Last week I flew solo for the first time with both kids. I flew 23 times with Pigtail during her first year of life. I've flown three times with both kids (and another adult) since Pirate was born last October, and I've flown alone with Pirate only once, when we went to Nashville in February. So, even though it was my first trip with the kids flying alone, I felt pretty confident. I had this. I am momma, hear me roar.
True to my Flying With Baby tips, I wore cargo pants and only carried one bag. But, this airplane only had four seats across, two on each side of the aisle, so I couldn't get everyone their own. The six-month-old would ride on my lap, the two year old would sit beside us. I thought that would be the hardest part of the journey. It was not.
My parents, because they are lovely, kind, sweet, generous people who sometimes know me better than I know myself, drove an hour and a half from my hometown just to help me at the airport. I didn't suggest it - I didn't even think of it - and truthfully I didn't think I needed it. But my dad helped me return the rental car and my mom met us at check-in with food, and I was so relieved that they had come up with this plan.
We made it through security okay. I have a ritual about what goes in what bin, where Pigtail stands while I'm loading and unloading. The suited businessman in line behind me was impressed with my organization, but really really wanted to help me. So I handed him the baby while I folded the stroller to be x-rayed. I worked quickly, knowing that any second Pirate was going to spit up all over this finely dressed man.