Pro Tip for Traveling With a Newborn: Don’t Do It

When Ryan was 8 weeks old, the hubbins and I faced a major dilemma. After looking for a new job for a couple of months, TFW was offered a position that sounded just about perfect: great people, fun environment, an industry he loves, yada yada yada.

So what’s the problem, you ask? The company was in Seattle…and we live in Los Angeles.

Despite my usual resistance to change (I’ve been known to experience a mini panic attack upon learning that dinner plans must be altered) and the fact that I lived my whole life in Southern California, I wasn’t necessarily adverse to moving. He needed a new job and this was a good one, and luckily my job can be done from virtually anywhere as long as I have internet access. And aside from my family, I don’t have many (i.e. any) friends in LA, so it’s not like I’d be measurably more lonely up there. Surprisingly enough to myself and to all who have ever had to put up with me, I was totally open-minded about the whole situation.

(Keep in mind, the baby was only 8 weeks old at this time and I wasn’t getting much sleep. I think my usual defenses were just down due to the fatigue.)

However, I’d never even been north of San Francisco, and TFW had experienced Seattle for a grand total of about 4 hours during the interview process (we won’t count the time he spent in the airport, although he did note that the Qdoba was delicious). Obviously, no matter how great the job seemed and how uncharacteristically flexible I was being, we needed to check out the city before agreeing to uproot our entire lives to move there. The company needed an answer within a week, so we did what any rational people would do: we booked a last minute flight and packed our 8-week-old infant up for a whirlwind 36-hour trip to Seattle.

Have you ever traveled with a newborn? I sure hadn’t. I had no clue what to bring or what I was even allowed to bring (is formula on the do-not-fly list? Do wipes count as a liquid?). I had no clue how one was supposed to navigate an airport with a baby, a stroller, a car seat (since we were renting a car in Seattle), and all the luggage. And where do you change a diaper on an airplane? I’d never had reason to look for changing tables in those miniscule excuses for bathrooms before. Worst of all, what if the baby cried the whole flight?! I so didn’t want to be “that” mom on the plane.

I had about 24 hours to figure it out before we headed to the airport. I packed approximately one million diapers and about ten fewer outfits than he ended up needing (his reaction to our potential move to Seattle: repeated vomiting), remembered to toss in some clothes for myself at the last minute (seriously, I almost forgot to pack a single item for myself) and off we went!

The prep was stressful, but the trip up north was surprisingly easy. Bubba was smiley and cheerful and seemingly completely un-phased by being on the plane. He charmed our fellow passengers for a while, then sucked down a bottle and snoozed for the rest of the flight:

We took it as an omen. We were going to love Seattle! Things couldn’t possibly go poorly after such an positive start!

18 hours later, our spirits had dampened considerably (rain pun 100% intended).

Seattle was…bleak:

It didn’t take long for us to come to the realization that we weren’t going to be able to move. We tried to envision actually living there, taking the dog out for walks in the rain, buying those special UV lights to simulate sunlight so the baby wouldn’t suffer from infant-onset depression, traveling back to California for holidays but missing all the random Sunday barbeques, and we couldn’t do it. I was almost swayed when I caught sight of a group of Pretty Seattle Girls all dolled up in cute rain boots and cozy pea coats (as a Los Angeles/San Diego resident I have never had a reason to wear such things, and if we’re being honest here, I’ve always thought I’d look really awesome in knit hat), but then I remembered that I don’t spend money on myself and would probably end up wearing running shoes and my high school drama class hoodie every day anyway, and my anti-moving stance was reaffirmed.

So, cranky from the depressing weather and with the knowledge that TFW would have to turn down a perfectly good job weighing heavily on our minds, we headed to the airport. We were stressed, exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to get home and get in bed.

Unfortunately, the baby wasn’t happy with the situation either, and he decided to let us know by taking the opportunity to even out that whole “perfect baby on the first flight” act with a few hours of good old fashioned “baby from hell” treatment for the return trip.

Thus began the worst four hours of my mothering career. Before we even boarded the plane, he spit up all over his last clean outfit and I was forced to dress him in the only other outfit in the diaper bag…which unfortunately wasn’t clean (it was a victim of a previous spitup attack, but at least it was dry). He pooped during takeoff, meaning he (and I) had to sit there for about 20 minutes before we could get up to remedy the situation (sidenote: they do have changing tables in there!). He ate, and then promptly spit it all back up, soaking his already-disgusting jammies…which of course I could do nothing about.

Then he started crying.

And crying.

And crying.

And crying.

And I could. not. stop him!

For close to three hours, I rocked him, walked with him, sung to him, and apologized to my fellow passengers about 678 times.

And do you want to know the worst part of this whole experience? Not ONE person on that plane offered so much as a smile of forgiveness or sympathy for my plight.

Lessons learned:

1. Seattle is really, really gloomy.
2. Being “that lady with the crying baby” really, really sucks. Leave the baby with Grandma.
3. Don’t be a jerk. Smile at the lady with the crying baby. I promise you, she’s trying.

Silver lining? My baby looked really cute all bundled up for the cold:

---

Thanks to Mama Kat‘s writer’s workshop prompt (“Talk about an awkward moment”) for the inspiration!