I knew flying with an 8-month-old would be challenging. I knew it in the same vague way I knew labor would be painful.
There is very little that would have enticed my husband and me to fly with an infant across the continent, literally as far as you can go while still remaining in the domestic states, except for the phrase "free Bahamas vacation." When these words crossed my father's lips all our trepidations were immediately forgotten and I was online within minutes researching airfares. For reasons that make sense only to the airline industry, we were able to find two first-class seats for less than three coach seats. Well! That solidified it. Baby or no, there was no way we wouldn't have a fabulous flight sitting in first class!
We arrived at the airport with the entire contents of our home stuffed into about twenty pieces of luggage. The only thing left at the house were the larger pieces of furniture. Foremost in our minds as we approached security was an incident that occurred exactly a year ago, when I was six months pregnant, and we were going on our last pre-baby vacation. As we were putting on our shoes on the other side of security we watched a flustered couple as they unloaded one baby-gear item after another onto the x-ray conveyer belt, juggling a baby between them while removing their shoes, jackets, electronic items, etc. When they made it to the other side they high-fived each other. Tom and I shared a look of sheer horror. What had we gotten ourselves into?
Turns out getting through security was a breeze compared to the flight itself. A decided, in her typical baby bad-timing way, that now was an excellent time to start mimicking the art of adult conversation to which she had been paying very close attention for some weeks. A's version of conversation is to holler good-naturedly at the top of her lungs for thirty minute stretches. I think she learned this from her grandma, because I don't do that.
As we boarded the plane with far more luggage than the airlines allow (it turns out the one dubious benefit to flying with an infant is that the airline turns a blind eye to the amount of luggage you schlepp on the plane - or it could be because we were in first class. I wouldn't know because I've never flown first class before, or with a baby, so I have no control group) A decided to regale her fellow passengers with an enthralling and detailed account of what I can only assume was her first airport tram ride. She was deep into a description of the marquee with its bright shiny red lights as we sidled into our seats, balancing our gear and engaging in the kind of multi-layered levels of coordination required when doing ANYthing with a baby.
"Babe, could you hold this so I can stow the luggage?" Tom asked me, shouting to be heard over A's enthusiastic description of a woman she saw in the airport who sat in a chair with wheels on it.
"Well first I need to fix a bottle in case she starts fussing. Can you hold her while I fix the bottle and then I can hold that and then you can stow the luggage?"
"Okay but I need to set this in here so I can get the bottle stuff out so you can fix a bottle and then you can hold this while I stow the luggage and then I can take her and feed her while you get the toys and the sippie cup set up."
"Wait - the rest of the bottle stuff is in that bag over there, so you hold her while I get that bag, then I'll take her and then you fix the bottle and then I'll take her and hold that and then you can store the luggage while I -"
"I think she just pooped."
"Okay, you go change her while I fix the bottle and hold this and you can hold that while..."
Etc. You get the idea.
As soon as we sat down with sighs strong enough to blow a hole in the seats in front of us, A decided it was time for a rigorous round of calesthenics which resulted, naturally, in coffee being spilled in Tom's shoe. However after another half hour we were both covered in mixtures of spit-up, coffee, drool, pee and our own lunches, so we quickly realized caring about our appearances was a complete waste of time and energy.
A is really cute, so people tend to readily forgive her for disturbing the peace in any one of her ten favorite ways, but they are less forgiving to her parents who have absolutely no control over anything. Tom and I diligently pulled out one new toy after another, Mary Poppins style, from a small bag that you would never know could hold so much. One after another they were flung to the ground as A seemed to favor either squirming, crying or hollering over any of the toys we brought. Various points of the flight found us bent over, ass up, searching for a rejected pacifier that, A decided seconds after flinging it from her presence, was THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD AND SHE HAD TO HAVE IT BACK RIGHT NOW. We went through our entire bank of animal noises, which never ceases to enthrall A so long as you don't run out. But there are only so many animals who make noises one can mimic.
In over 12 hours of travel, there and back, neither Tom nor I were able to complete a one and a half hour movie. One of many FREE movies that first class passengers get. Nor could we use the Special First Class Lavatory, because it didn't have a pull-down changing table. Instead we had to cross the threshold denoted by the blue curtain separating the riff-raff and stand in line with the peasants to wait for their toilet. Only one of us was able to partake of the meal served (coach passengers could, as far as the airline was concerned, just starve to death) because the other had to hold the baby. And we had learned our lesson with that first coffee; no free alcoholic (or otherwise) beverages for us, unless it came with a cap. So water it was.
The seats were roomy, it's true, but not so much when you have a twenty-pound infant splayed across your lap grabbing at everything within reach. Suddenly the quarters were WAY too confined because EVERYthing was in reach. Note to Delta flight attendants: you'll need to replace all the safety cards in row 5. Somebody seems to have eaten them. And while we were permitted to board first, it took us so long to stow all our crap that we were the last to actually sit down.
Thus, my conclusions based on this experience: If you are traveling with an infant, Coach and First Class have absolutely no distinction. In fact, you might as well just reserve the seat in the lavatory and save yourself a lot of time.
