The first time I flew solo with an infant, I started with baby steps, or so I thought. The fight was less than a two hours to visit my dad. How difficult could it be? The baby took longer naps than that flight.
I packed, what I thought, would be enough extras for an hour plus flight–an extra outfit, couple of extra diapers. I was so on top of it, piece of cake. Whoever said travelling alone was tricky, must have been a light weight.
Then, unpredictable reality hit. The one hour flight turned into a ten hour ordeal. Most of those hours were spent stuck on the tarmac (they’ve passed new guidelines on that now, I think), which meant we had to stay buckled in our seats and I couldn’t get up and walk around with her. My baby decided to have a guiness book of world record poop day. I think she pooped three times her own weight that day. I went back to the bathroom to change her and there no tables. I tried to put her on my lap, but that didn’t work well. I tried to hold her upright with one of my arms wrapped under her arms.
What I didn’t realize was that a big ball of poop had rolled down into her leggings, which I squished all over the place once I got back to my seat. And that was my backup outfit. I tried to wrap a blanket around her to contain the stink, which of course didn’t work. She would not take a nap because I couldn’t walk her to sleep (she was our first and we never put her down), so she just cried endlessly, driving every person on board to the brink of insanity. No one would make eye contact with me. If they could have shoved us out onto the tarmac and gotten away with it, I’m sure someone would have done it. Everyone kept saying, “That your first baby?” What was their first, second, and third clue? Yes, they were mocking me.
That day I was sufficiently humbled, for the rest of my life. It cured me of ever, ever, passing judgement of a mom who is coping with a fussy baby, or any rookie mom behavior. Nothing a lot of practice won’t cure. By my third, I’d sling the kid under my arm, stuff a diaper and wipe in my bra. I could change a diaper with my knees, dangling by one ankle, with my hands tied behind my back, in four seconds flat, while shoulder holding my cell. You know exactly what I’m talking about.
What that first flight taught me was to pack enough outfits and diapers for a disaster of every kind (diahrreha, engine trouble, flight cancellation with layover, unexpected meteor shower). You aren’t just packing for your flight, you are packing for all the other things that could happen and hopefully won’t. Nothing is worse than trying to find a diaper, when your baby is crying in a messy one.
Biggest issue I found when traveling alone, is you don’t have that extra set of hands to hand baby off to, when at security, etc. Even though you can check your stroller at the plane, there are still moments when the stroller has to be folded up, mainly at security. I found the best contraption for times like these is a quick and easy way to attach the baby to you. If you don’t mind the back or front packs with two dozen straps, levers, and pulleys, you are simply a better person than I am. I’m a sucker simplicity. Even the slings I found that the baby was all crunched up in a ball and it took forever to get her situated comfortably. My favorite attacher, specifically for travelling solo with a baby in airports, was a little soft seat for their bottom, which was attached to a belt that snapped around your waist. It was incredibly lightweight, and stuck baby to your hip. It gave me the two hands needed to fold up that stroller, get the passports or boarding passes. It was the perfect aid. Once I found it, I told all my friends about this little one snap wonder.