Back Staging part 2

As for security, I've long since made my peace with the fumbling to get everything out my pockets and the groping. patting, tugging, swabbing and back of the hand-pressing that is entailed in having a one-on-one inspection (which is what they call a 'male assist') - such is life when walking unaided and shoeless through the metal detector is not a realistic option.

This left Mrs T to get herself and an  essentially comatose 3 month old through security. The plus side...you know that star-jump, chest crunch type thingy they now get you to do through the detector...well they didnt make her have to do this thankfully.  Nor even did she have to go through the metal detector while throwing SJ over the top of the machine having to catch him as she exited. In Mrs T's case, she was permitted to do an approximation of the star-jumpy chest-crunchy pose while still holding SJ- phew! The real down side came before all of this metal related palava. Mrs T, not only had to schlep all the luggage and things onto the conveyor, but also the stroller, since we were checking it at the cabin door. What do you do with a baby, when you need to fold the stroller and put the car seat through the scanner? in such In a sudden Hollywood-esque moment of fate, Mrs T, found herself next in line behind a rather dashing, eager to assist, airline pilot who was only too willing to 'hold the baby' whilst the stroller was folded, placed on the conveyor, and of course unfolded on the other side. Thank-goodness for hunky, helpful airline employees- oh, did I mention his wife was expecting twins?!

The feeling of '3rd wheel-ness' was not lessened once we got to the gate where SJ decided he was hungry, leaving me with nothing much to do, other than look mildly gormless being left to sit in the wheelchair which our attendant kindly left us. 

She arrived again to push me down the jetty to the plane. When we left the stroller st the airport cabin door, SJ was asleep. We settled as quickly as we could given all our baby related paraphernalia (not least that both of us -according to our pre-arranged plan, were wearing baby carriers) into our bulkhead seats and the flight attendant brought the bassinet we had booked and the seat-belt extension so that SJ could be fastened into Mrs T's seat belt.

Now, as I write this with hindsight, I'm left wondering why didn't I ask for a second extension so that we had the option for SJ to also be strapped to me, freeing up Mrs T, for eating, moving around, movie watching etc? The answer is, of course, that I could have done, but that actually the pressure in those (public) situations where you are doing everything to prevent your child from causing a scene is to get everything done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Handing off SJ to me would have been a big faf, trying to attach him to me an even bigger one, essentially wasting our precious time and making him more prone to screaming.

With that, SJ happily slept and eat his way through the flight. Screaming only for the 3 minutes I was holding him so that Mrs T could take a well earned wee. All the rest of the time he was snugly attached to my better half.

There was one last moment baby related high-jinx just as we were about to get carried away with how smoothly it all had gone. That was the incredibly public wee  that our darling son did, as we changed his nappy while waiting to get off the plane at Heathrow. A bigger audience of already disgruntled people he couldn't have wished for!

We were whisked through passports and baggage in much the same way as we had check in and security at the other end. To arrive in my parents words (as they met us at arrivals) 'looking all put together'.

Appearances, don't tell the whole story.

Back Staging Part 1

Even Adaptive Grandpa wrote to me after the previous post to tell me how cool, calm and collected the three of us seemed when my parents were there to meet us off the flight to London.

It's true that our traveling went far more smoothly than we had any right to imagine. Frankly that's much less interesting (and I hope worthwhile) than hearing the story behind the story...

It all begins with our wearable baby carrier. Back in March we had bought bought a Baby-Bjorn as our wearable carrier of choice. To say 'our' is honestly more than a little misleading, You see, as with the vast majority of the baby equipment we have chosen ourselves the sole barometer of that choice is my ability to use the contraption/device/thingymabob/ successfully. Rigorous in-store practicing with the 'in-house' baby doll, seemed to show that I would be able to carry the  real baby in it successfully when the time came. With that, the choice was made, the 'Bjorn' became 'our' wearable baby carrier. 

 Now, this approach does have a distinct advantage in as much as it makes the process of baby shopping much less overwhelming because in every significant sphere it cuts down our choices. We our fortunate that every purchasing selection does not feature the agonizing choice between  150 versions of the same thing that seem distinguishable one from the next by little more than 'the cute dog design'  or the 'one with the spaceships'. Who knew you needed half this stuff? Truth is, in reality, there are a few bits of kit that have proven essential and many others that we now consider essentially superfluous. (I'm sure this must be in common with the experience of many other new parents be they adaptive or able-bodied).

In this case, our approach proved flawed as within a few weeks it became clear that the Baby Bjorn, while still comfortable for SJ and working well for me, was putting too much pressure on Mrs T's back. After some testing of her own, Mrs T selected the Beco Gemini (we'll say nothing of the aspirational, pretentious name) as her carrier of choice and so, on the very day of our flight to London we became one of those 'two-carrier' families.

We specifically wanted to have both carriers for the flight so that we could both take turns with parenting duties in the airport and on the plane while the other could eat, watch a film, sleep etc. Plus, of course Mrs T wouldn't have to carry all the luggage and the baby too. From my perspective this was great as I, as ever, was concerned that the burden of parenting was likely to fall on Mrs T during the journey and here was a way to even the load. This is part of the reason that the inside story of the flight was actually one of frustration for me.

As I said in the previous post, we were all packed and ready when the cab came to take us to Logan- thanks largely to my being sent to do trip-related errands (including buying Mrs T's Gemini carrier) while Mrs T handled the packing and SJ. Things started to go down hill once we arrived at the airport.

Clearly, its not all bad. I imagine that tonnes of able-bodied folks are quietly jealous of wheelchair users at airports like myself who get whisked effortlessly through all the various queues. That said no ones ever fest this up to me, just a hunch. In fact, when Mrs T and I first traveled abroad when we were engaged she would constantly double check whether she should be coming with me as we merrily skipped the queues.

That said, as soon as we arrived at the airport and the wheelchair attendant met me the tone was set. I was put in the (naughty) corner where people requiring assistance are made to wait for a pusher. Fortunately, the baby was sleepy. Mrs T went to check in and soon returned to take all the luggage and get the stroller tagged for aircraft side check-in. I was left twiddling my thumbs, thankful that the baby was too busy being tired to cause any trouble.

When the wheelchair pusher arrived off we went, me with the hand luggage on my lap. The assistant, pushing me and Mrs T with the baby and all the other hand luggage.

No problem you might say, indeed there was no problem until, that is we got to the security check.

And for that come back for part 2... (which is a proof read away from being published so should be ready by some point tomorrow (Monday), see you then.

A Tale of Two Plane Rides (and the holiday in between them) - Part 1 - Inbound

On the off-chance that you've been feeling somehow bereft without a regular dose of Adaptive Daddy, I'm glad to let you know that we are back.

Mrs T, SJ and I have recently returned from a holiday based mainly at Adaptive Grandpa and Adaptive Grandma's house in Deepest Darkest outskirts of London.

We haven't done much travelling of any kind since the baby was born. Every new, un-mastered task seems overwhelming, the greater the amount of logistics involved,  the more mind-mindbogglingly insurmountable it can seem. And so it was with the prospect of our first (international) air travel as a trio.

As a couple we are not prone to irrational panicking. In general my calm (if occasionally stern) rationalism is generally a useful foil for Mrs T's intermittent moments of snappy unreasonableness. Add to this the fact that I'm married to a woman who makes the German nation seem grossly blotted and inefficient and you'd be forgiven for thinking that the prospect of getting the 3 of us in a plane and to the UK all present, correct and accounted for would be a doddle.

Well, it would be a doddle, except you forget to consider two things. First, my lingering bachelor tendencies and, second the accumulative effect of parenting and being a breast-feeding Mum on Mrs T.

To the bachelor tendencies first. Gone are the days of my throwing my luggage haphazardly in an unnecessarily large check-in  bag and looking forward to the 'Giant Airport Combo', bought at the Hudson News closest to the gate -that's a  massive bag of cheezits washed down with Diet Coke. It wasn't just with vacuum packing and home-made sandwiches  for the journey that Mrs T rocked my world and won my undying affection, but these definitely helped.

The fact that I'm still tempted by these old habits and that the perennial exhaustion of parenting and nursing means I can no longer rely on Mrs T to do the logistics for both of us, definitely made fuflilling our international travel commitments seem even more daunting.

In the end, the day of our trip to London passed without major incident and all three of us were packed and  ready when the taxi arrived. Once at the airport, with the advantage of wheelchair assistance for me we were waiting by the gate in no time. This all seemed too easy- SJ had either been asleep or too drowsy to care what was going on around him.

But there was still the flight to come....

As for the flight itself....we needn't have worried! When SJ wasn't eating, he was sleeping. Indeed the only time he threw a bit of a tantrum is while I held him so Mrs T could use the loo - typical! Of course we're saying nothing of our darling son weeing all over the plane in front of all of the bemused passengers as they waited to deplane after landing. (Why did we decide to change his nappy on the table they have for the baisonette, rather than in the privacy of the arrival hall toilets again?)

Sound too good to be true? Join us in part two for a reality check...