So we were heading back from the “To Be CONtinued” convention in Chicago. A decent if not huge attendance, but I try to support regional SF cons where I can. The crew running it was enthusiastic and attentive, and everyone had a good time, I thought.
I was sitting next to Caroline on the flight back. She drank a bottle of cold milk during take-off, which was good, because the sucking kept her ears from getting clogged during the climb in altitude. During the flight, she smiled, she burbled, then she started to drift and her eyelids were closing.
And then we hit turbulence.
Forty-five minutes of it.
Poor Ariel desperately needed to go to the bathroom, but she wouldn’t go when the fasten seatbelt sign was on, and during the brief moments when they’d shut it off, others would sprint past her before she could get up.
Naturally Caroline, who carries her bathroom in her pants, wasn’t concerned about that. The eyes continued to close, close…
And then, with one final jostle of turbulence as the plane headed toward the airport, her eyes snapped open and the milk made its triumphant return through her mouth.
Everywhere. Everywhere. I grabbed into the seat pouch for a barf bag. None. Of course. Wasted precious seconds finding another, tried to get it in front of her mouth. Automatically she yanked her face away from the bag and decorated me with the remainder of her stomach’s contents.
Being barfed on by your kid is one of those few life experiences where, no matter how many times it’s happened to you before, each time is like the first.
Her little Easter outfit was shot, as was the interior lining of her chair. I unbuckled my seat belt and changed her out of her outfit into another “emergency” outfit Kath had packed in the diaper back, trying to hold the squirming vomit-covered crying infant while hoping no flight attendant would come over and tell me I had to be buckled in. Didn’t happen; I suspect the crew wanted no part of the whole mess, and I for one don’t blame them.
The one advantage was that I was able to get her off the plane quickly upon landing. People stood up in the aisle to start getting their stuff from the overhead. I rose with the bedraggled infant in my arms, facing out, and announced, “Pardon me. Anyone care to stand in the way of a baby who just barfed?” They parted like the Red Sea…which I guess made it Caroline’s way of contributing to the whole Passover experience.
I’d been hesitant to give her baby dramamine before the flight because, yes, it knocks the kid out and avoids these problems, but the child often wakes up *incredibly* cranky. So I figured I’d take the risk with the relatively short flight.
Nice risk taking there, David.
PAD
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