The Pook traveled to Red Wing, MN with us for our annual and his first Thanksgiving family get-together. He was his typical sleepy, content airplane self on the way there (it was, after all, the 5th flight he had taken in his 4 1/2 months). After some rejoice-worthy napping Thanksgiving morning, he got a serious case of FOMO and amped up the pookiness level to give everyone a taste of his cranky self. But because it’s family and his cheeks are still cute and squishy no matter his mood, no one loved him any less. We enjoyed a solid amount of family time and food – maybe more than just a “solid amount” of food – and got a handful of pictures amidst it all (see below).
The trip back was slightly more eventful. Per usual, the other passengers had a fair amount of fear in their eyes when noticing 4-month-old Pook would be joining them on their flight. And even more so when 5 other baby-full families stepped up at pre boarding. Fair enough. This time though, their (and our) nightmares were all realized an hour into the air. Full force baby meltdown ensued. Except we weren’t the ones feeling sorry for the family dealing with it. We were the family. We pulled out all the stops. I’ve never put such enthusiasm into song, dance, or “this Little Piggy”. The Pook was not amused. Did I mention he was also on a 36-hour nursing strike? Ah yes, the perfect storm. We went so far as to take all his clothes off, too. Not including diaper, of course – do you think I’m nuts? It made sense at the time, considering Delta was trying to cook us. I recall the plane being at least 150 degrees.
What we soon realized about our dilemma was that it could only get worse if the plane went crashing down from the sky. Which didn’t happen. Despite the very ragged appearance we had stepping off the plane in Hartford (Did I have a black eye and bloody nose? I’m pretty sure I did.), we lived.
Note to self: Next time, prep with wine.