By LIA SPENCER
MY husband Michael and I are excited to be heading to Canada for Christmas next month, but we are bracing ourselves for a long trip with our one-year-old Isla.
We will be taking a four-hour flight to New Zealand, followed by a 14-hour flight to Vancouver, then a quick one-hour flight to Calgary.
Travelling on my own seemed to be a daunting task when I first made the trip from Canada to Australia almost nine years ago. It became easier with time, but now, with a busy little toddler in tow, I am somewhat of a nervous wreck.
It’s not that Isla is a stranger to flying. She got her passport when she was two weeks old – that was an adventure in itself. She had to lie still, look at the camera, and not make any faces.
The man taking the photo cracked it after one shot exclaiming ‘too difficult, too difficult’ and pushed the camera into the hands of a colleague.
When we finally got the picture, she was Photoshopped more than Kim Kardashian’s bum on her latest magazine shoot.
She had nine flights by the time she was two-months-old because we had three destination weddings in a short span of time. One in Port Douglas, the next in Canada, then the last in Perth.
I was terrified before we left that flying with a newborn would be hell. A hell where I would be covered in baby vomit, she would cry more tears than a hysterical One Direction fan, and cause every passenger to drown their pain with copious amounts of vodka and throw the empties at our heads.
It was anything but. In fact, I now recommend to parents that if they want to jet set with a baby, to do it in the early months. Isla slept most of the way on most of the flights. She had one hissy fit at the Vancouver airport, just to let all our fellow passengers know that she would be boarding the flight, but probably still did less screaming than Naomi Campbell would do on an airplane. And then she didn’t make a peep for the following 13 hours.
Probably one of the hardest parts was trying to breastfeed on the flight. Breastfeeding, especially in the beginning stages is hard, full stop. Breastfeeding in public is harder. Breastfeeding on a plane, sitting in very close proximity to strangers, is even worse. And, to my horror, and to my husband’s amusement, my worst fear about doing the task on a plane came true. The very nice lady sitting beside me was courteous enough to look out the window while I adjusted my clothing to feed Isla – but just before Isla tucked in, the milk shot out uncontrollably and vigorously, all over said nice lady. I was mortified. Luckily, she never noticed, and I never mentioned it. I pretended it never happened and was extra cautious the next time I took out the milk jugs.
This time around will be very different. Isla is mobile. She’s hungry. She likes to baby talk. Isla’s a social toddler with a short attention span and healthy curiosity. Luckily the longest of the three flights is a red-eye, but for the shorter flights, I will be loading up the iPad with The Wiggles and Peppa the Pig – bringing lots of snacks and some good books! As for me, I may need a glass of red to help calm my nerves.
