Tuesday, 7/11/2023, Nashville Airport

2:08 pm

I wasn’t anxious about this until we popped open the back of my sister’s van.

It’s not the actual flying that concerns me. The Baby is almost chronically un-anxious, as in, he is not anxious even when he probably should be, like when he tries to drown himself by holding his breath underwater too long or trying to topple out of bed or grabbing onto a fence that looks like it could be electrified because it’s also looks good to shake (and these are just from the last few days).

It’s the security line that concerns me most. Even when there isn’t an hour-long backlog of barefoot passengers staring at you, the security line just makes you feel rushed. And I’m carrying:

• A backpack of my stuff
• A diaper bag with several bottles of formula that are over the TSA’s 3.4mL limit
• A giant BIPAP machine in a carrying bag
• My crossbody purse
• A 50-pound 7year old in a stroller that we somehow have to gate-check because I literally cannot carry him, in addition to the rest of our haul

I swore to everyone that I could do this, no problem. I assured my mom and Alex and my sister, “Oh, you sillies. I’ve got this! It will be a breeze!”

Is it my anti-anxiety medication? Did it make me so chill that I’ve lost the ability to realistically assess my abilities?

Because, what the fuck am I doing here? I’m walking into the airport now, bags crisscrossed over my body, and my sister is videoing me and I’m feeling pressure in my chest and my eyes feel a little wet.

Oh well.

Too late now.

2:22pm

Amazingly, we’ve made it through security. I walked through the line and went to the nicest-looking lady to scan our tickets because I needed a win. The TSA people were mostly nice. They did make me get The Baby out of his stroller so we walked, shoes on, through the metal detector and then he leaned on the rollers and explored them with his tongue while we waited for an old man to swab our stroller and make sure The Baby hadn’t brought any of his bomb-making materials aboard the aircraft.

Also, I left a shit ton of water in a reusable water bottle and they let it pass. The CPAP and formula was a non-issue.

I think they took mercy on me- my face scrunched in anxiety, standing beside my disabled son, his tongue gently caressing the filthy rollers.

Onward.

2:26pm

Our gate is in terminal C and it’s the furthest gate from where we are. We don’t take off for another hour but, my next anxiety-hurdle is making sure that we get to preboard and that we get the stroller back at the gate when we land in Dallas.

Also, did this BiPap machine gain 44 pounds between my sister’s car and the security line. Good lord. No one has offered to take it from me yet, but I feel like that’s coming because I’m walking lopsided like Quasimodo.

2:35pm

I found our gate and made a beeline for the gate agent. I probably looked like this woman, but pushing a stroller with a very cute boy in it:

The very sweet Southwest employee took pity on me. We got a pre-board ticket and a tag on the stroller so we could gate-check it. Without the preboard, I worry about finding seats together that we can actually get to. I would love a little breaky break from the stress of parenting in this moment, but I doubt Ken, the medical salesman from Des Moines, knows how to find The Baby’s favorite show on his tablet.

2:38pm

We’re taking up four seats in the waiting area. The diaper bag is hanging on the back of the stroller and my son is the counterweight. The Baby is getting a bit restless so I want to let him out to walk around a bit. We already look like a traveling circus but if I take him out of the stroller and the whole thing flips over backward, we’re going to have to start charging for the show. So, I’m resting the diaper bag on a chair while we walk back and forth in a small area because I also can’t abandon our luggage without causing a national incident.

I usually give The Baby water through his g-button around this time. But I have a concern.

He has an uncanny ability to poop at the most inopportune times. It’s not uncommon for him to wait until we’re in a doctor’s office waiting to see a provider and he lets one loose, hotboxing us with his shits of death. He cleared a public pool a few short weeks ago when he climbed out of the pool right beside the lifeguard and a brown puddle spread out beneath him.

Today, he already had a tiny poop before we got in the car to come to the airport.

We had a come-to-jesus talk about how difficult it would be to change a poopy diaper on a plane- never mind the smell that would permeate the aircraft. However, he’s also probably thirsty and he won’t partake of the on-flight beverage cart. So, I’ve decided to give him water through his g-button. There’s an 8-year-old child across the way who is open-mouthed staring at us.

Always good to have an audience.

Water done, now we’re off to find a bathroom to void our bowels before our, hopefully, uneventful flight.

2:47pm

I actually researched Nashville’s airport and they do, in fact, have an adult changing station in a family bathroom somewhere.

Now that The Baby is getting bigger, he no longer fits on the infant changing stations that are ubiquitous in women’s bathrooms. His legs hang off the end, he’s over the weight limit, and it’s hard to hoist him up there without giving oneself a hernia. He pooped during a kids’ concert at our library a few weeks ago and they only have an infant changing station. I asked a grumpy basement librarian if we could quickly use a study room for my disabled son’s diaper change.

“Well, we usually use the bathrooms for that,” she groused.

“I’m aware of that. However, if you’ll stand up and look at him, you’ll see that isn’t an option for us,” I shot back.

She finally relented and we changed the diaper in a classroom while she stood watch outside the door. He pooped again about 20 minutes later and I was NOT going to ask that woman a second time so we snuck him to the back of the kids’ non-fiction section and changed his diaper on the nasty carpet while he peed on his shirt next to books about Easter and Yom Kippur.

Point being, as he gets bigger, we’re gonna have to think through diaper changes and where we can do it safely and comfortably.

We’ve made our way to a women’s bathroom semi-near our gate. While I unburdened myself of my many bags, he tried to slide out of the stroller to crawl across the dirty floor to play with the only water in the stall. I strapped him in and peed in relative peace.

His diaper, strangely, is bone dry. There is a long counter with a kidney-shaped divot for the infants that would work in a pinch but I am making the executive decision to not change his diaper because he doesn’t need it.

3:54pm

We got back to the gate in the nick of time. We were the first passengers on the plane. We took the very first row to our right. I gave the Baby the window seat because I don’t know how this is gonna go and we need a buffer from whichever normie sits next to us. I grabbed an applesauce pouch, his tablet, my reading tablet, and my phone and we sat in our seats. I made a stewardess heave the Bipap machine into the overhead bin and she helped me stow the rest of our bags.

The seatbelt hits him right under his g-button and I mistakenly dressed him in dry-fit shorts, which are slippery on the faux leather so his hips keep sliding forward. While I was people-watching, he did actually slip out onto the very clean airplane carpet and try to escape.

4:04pm

We were a little late to take off.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t get The Baby interested in looking out the windows but he did feel something when we got to speed and actually got off the ground. He grabbed my arm, which he doesn’t really do, and held on for dear life until we got altitude. I gave him a little applesauce and he is now happily watching his favorite cartoon that features a Russian sentient piece of lint named Booba.

4:30pm

Remember when I told you that his diaper was bone dry? As soon as we found our seats on the plane, he peed the most he’s ever peed in his life. He must have been saving all of his urine for 3 days to produce this amount of urine in 30 minutes.

The diaper’s not going to make it.

I’ve thought about asking if I could lay him on the floor in the flight attendant’s area but it’s gross and we’re at the front of the plane. I could wait it out and see if the diaper holds.

Decisions, decisions.

4:37pm

Our seatmate got up to use the bathroom. I’ve been watching this diaper, pinching it, stressing that it is seconds away from springing a leak.

So, I’ve made a brave decision.

I’m going to change this mother-fucking diaper on this mother-fucking plane.

Diaper in hand, we strode confidently to the forward lavatory. He immediately went to digging in the sink while I tried to work out how to get us both into the small closet with the door shut.

I heaved him on top of the toilet. While he stood and leaned over my shoulder to continue playing in the sink, I mac-guyvered the old diaper off and the new one on. It took me about 30 seconds and I cannot tell you how proud I was of myself. I conquered my greatest fear. I’m a bloody magician.

Victory.

5:09pm

We touchdown in 10 minutes.

The rest of the flight has been very uneventful. The Baby is content to watch his lint episodes with his seatbelt at his nipples.

5:20pm

Hello, Dallas.

5:40pm

We had to wait around for the stroller to be brought up from below. I stood awkwardly at the plane door exit while people deboarded. I stuck The Baby in a thin wheelchair and he banged on the hot metal wall of the ramp. We finally got the stroller and then trekked across Lovefield to find Alex’s mom who relieved me of the Bipap machine and led us to the car.

Overall, this was a successful trip. With another adult, it would have been even easier.

We’ve never flown with The Baby because trying to coordinate suitcases of diapers, formula, and medical equipment sounded exponentially worse than driving across the country.

But now I know that I can do it.

And we can do it.

And maybe our world got a little bit bigger today.