It’s not our first choice, nor our third or fifth or twenty-sixth, but tomorrow we’ll be flying on a plane with an 8 week old. A family emergency has forced us to face one of the worst circles of hell new parents can imagine: air travel with an infant. There was talk of leaving Fyona at home since somebody has to water the trees, but ultimately we decided she should tag along.

(Pictured but not included: joy.)

This ain’t no puddle jump, either. We’re going coast to coast with a transfer. I tried for non-stop, but with the purchase being made 24 hours before, I decided to only spend Fyona’s braces fund rather than our new car fund. Thanks for negotiating that bullshit, Shatner.

There’s so much to do.

We need to pack. This will be the most I’ve ever packed in my life, and I’ve been overseas twice. This two day trip with a baby now involves a travel crib, a car seat, the car seat base, the stroller, the adapter for the car seat to go on the stroller, probably a life jacket or two, couple buckets of paint, aluminum siding, and a couch. I may be overpacking. I can’t even see straight, I’m so frightened for tomorrow. I remember a flight I took not 4 months ago by myself. I fit everything I needed into my laptop bag and strolled through security without breaking stride. Now it’s like I’m Barnum & Bailey’s transportation coordinator.

(Similar smells, I would imagine.)

I need a screwdriver to take things apart. I need to tether pieces of things to other things so that they count as less items. I need labels! I need to clearly mark my property and hope that our uppity baby accessories come through untarnished. So help me God if one of those baggage jockeys steals my cup holder from the side of the stroller…. And the blankets. Oh my, so many blankets. This is what it must have been like to cart around the Emperor in Gladiator. I mean, did you see how much shit he brought with, just to check out the battle in Germania? It’s shameless, frankly, but it’s nothing compared to what could be the real issue.

My baby is little. What is the pressure of an airplane going to do to her delicate little ears? And all that recycled air? I’m 32 years old and I regularly pick up a bug on an airplane. What are her chances? We tried every angle possible that would involve some of us staying home. The Redhead needs to go and won’t leave the baby. I can’t send the two of them without help, no more than she could leave me behind with the kid. (I don’t make milk like she does and Fee is no fan of formula, plus some people may never meet her if it isn’t now, but let’s not think about that.)

Will she sleep? During an 8 hour journey it’s likely that she’ll sleep, cry, vomit, cry, poop, cry and eat. The eating will be the hard part. People do not take well to breastfeeding on a plane. I may have to throw down to defend my baby’s right to eat, even if it results in an emergency stop in Houston to ship me off to Gitmo. Hey, babies cry on planes. It’s just never been my baby. I’m pretty tolerant, but other people aren’t. If I’m stressed and somebody wants to talk some shit that prevents the one sure fire way to quiet a screaming baby, they may have a louder issue on their hands.

(A flight attendant this smug is BEGGING for an uprise.)

I pray that we survive and that my daughter doesn’t contract whooping cough or scarlet rubella or some other freaky thing I’ve never even heard of. I hope I don’t lose some work gigs because of my sudden disappearance. I hope those we’re going to see pull through. Most of all though, I hope somebody will acknowledge everything we went through to get there and give us a reprieve from the constant shit they give us. There are more important things in play at the moment than me being an Irish hoodlum who’s corrupted their daughter. Anyway, we’re taking an 8 week old on a plane tomorrow.

And I feel like nobody understands my panic.