They cite the economy and fuel costs for the increased airline fees and blame the weather for flight delays, but I must confess that today (entry started on Sunday), at least a part of both are related to my child's poop. It was a poop-everywhere kind of morning, and unfortunately the setting was an airplane bathroom.
As though arising at 5am on vacation isn't a hard enough start to the day, we had just found our seats and buckled-in on the plane when Jonathan made friends with the kind lady beside us, first cooing a sweet "ooooh, agaaah," and 5 seconds later squishing his face up for a full-force-ahead "hmmmmmmmmmmmmmph" accompanied by the bubbling noises of a diaper filling to capacity. The associated smell followed almost immediately. I gave my neighbor a nervous smile meant to communicate "babies... never know what they'll do! Cute, huh?" in an attempt to mask my actual thoughts: "you've GOT to be kidding me." There were still a few stragglers boarding, so I swoop him up with diapers and wipes, making my way to the nearest restroom while leaving the diaper bag behind, because I know the "lavatory" will be too small to set it down anywhere clean.
Too small -- no joke. Airplane "lavatories" become instantaneously smaller when you enter with a poopy infant. So small, in fact, that with no where to put Jonathan, I end up sitting on the toilet lid myself with the baby laying in my lap, where I discover he has filled not only his diaper, but his pajamas. In the split second I consider the situation, he clarifies with a final toot, pouring yet more poo out his already open diaper and spilling onto the floor just missing my jeans on the way down (or so I thought). Clearly, this job isn't going to be finished on my lap. Take 2: I grab 2 flimsy paper towels and put them on the back of the toilet seat, strip off the soiled PJ's and deposit them in the sink (only other available surface), and apply the poopy baby to the paper-towel covered toilet to begin the "clean-up." About this point Passenger #1 begins knocking on the door, insisting he needs to use the restroom. Passenger #1 is followed by a needing-to-potty Passenger #2, now only increasing my sense of urgency as I go through wipey after wipey cleaning the cheeze-wiz-like poo from my oblivious and pretty happy infant (thank Goodness!).
I have Jonathan into a clean diaper and am surveying the scene (poopy pajamas in the sink; loads of wipeys stuffed into the "trash can" smearing a hint of poo on the lid; and a good thick layer smeared across the back of the toilet lid despite my flimsy protective paper towels), when the flight attendant insists through the door, "You MUST take your seat before the pilot can pull away from the gate. We are waiting on you," followed by the light intended to tell the poor hurried "lavatory" occupant to get a move on already. A quick glance down suggests that the poo spillage is also on the floor, but as Friendly Flight Attendant continues pounding, I decide all I can manage without dropping Jonathan (while holding wet soiled pajamas, extra diaper, and wipes as well) is to wipe off the toilet lid with another papertowel. Maybe it's just a smidge on the floor? I don't know, I can't see straight down, anyways, as myself and Jonathan take up the entire 1.5x 1.5 foot space. So we scurry out and take our seats with the huffy attendant behind us.
I arrive at our seat and David asks, "Poopy Diaper?" The look in my eyes said, "Ya THINK?" while I said only "Take baby," setting Jonathan in his lap and getting my own seatbelt on. We pull away, flight takes off, and I'm somewhere in the process of re-dressing the culprit in clean clothes when an announcement comes overhead, "Due to unsanitary conditions in the front first-class lavatory, we strongly suggest that all passengers use the rear lavatory." GOODNESS! It was like an awful movie. I'll spare the awkward conversations with David offering to the clearly annoyed flight attendants to return to the scene of the crime for clean-up, and leave you with the ending-note to the trip:
Jonathan behaves just beautifully, playing and then napping through the flight. I'm just starting to recover from the poop trauma when we land and David (and the rest of the plane) stands to retrieve our overhead luggage. He looks at a man about two rows back and points, "Would you hand me that green bag? Thanks. Oh, and the breastpump, too." About 5 rows break out laughing simultaneously. All I can do is manage a stage whisper: "You could have asked for the black bag. It just looks like a black bag." More laughter. And it's only 11am.
Photos to follow... I promise.
