So, we went home to Kentucky last Thursday. And Robbie and I got to fly alone. Fortunately, it was a totally different experience than I expected. The last time I flew with Robbie was six months ago, without a seat for him. Epic fail. Not so much now.
I told Robbie on Wednesday that he was going to get to fly to go see Nona, Pops, Hal-a-ree, and Hunter. I even told him that he was going to get to take two planes. And until we got on the plane, all I heard was, “Fly, Mama. Two planes. Oh, boy!” For the first time, he actually realized that he was leaving, how he was leaving, and who he was going to see. This brought on a certain element of panic for Robbie; he had to make sure he had all the right toys and had to be certain that he was the one to put them in his packpack.
We got through security and the first flight just fine. Robbie watched The Smurfs, colored, and ate some potato chips. As a reward for being such a good boy, we stopped for ice cream. After all, there had to be some way to fill up our THREE HOUR layover in Chicago. This took up about five minutes.
As a side note, the bathroom I used in Chicago had no facilities for child changing. Are you kidding me?!
The real challenge, however, came on the second flight, which left at 10:30. Three hours past Robbie’s bedtime. He. Lost. His. Mind. Completely. Of course, he waited until we were on the plane to do this – much to my horror and the extreme irritation of the other passengers. By the way, loudly complaining, “Well, this is going to be an interesting flights” to your seat partner and rolling your eyes does nothing but make me want to kick your seat and pinch my kid to make him cry a little harder.
Eventually, the plane started moving and Robbie stopped crying to look out the window and get ready to “Zoom! Fly!” And then he fell asleep for the rest of the flight, much to everyone’s relief.