Duty Free Flying, Sort Of

Duty Free Flying“Please enjoy a duty-free flight,” announced the flight attendant. My eyes shut and I smiled at what I hoped would be a true and magical statement. While I love not paying duties, I wasn’t thinking greenbacks. I was praying against brown splats. The plane would only suspend itself in the air for a whole fifty minutes. Sixty-three, the attendant had noted from gate to gate.

I looked over at my fourteen-month-old and smiled. Even if she did begin her baby grunting halfway through the flight, bringing digestion to fruition–she does eat a lot of fruit–we would be so close to landing that not changing her immediately wouldn’t even be bad parenting. In fact, it would be plain dangerous to try to attempt to change her on the airplane should we pass the halfway mark, when I imagined some crew member announcing, “We are now preparing for landing.”

 

The plane took off and without fail, my daughter began her bowel-clearing grunts within minutes; the cabin pressure had foiled us again. We were off to the bathroom before they even walked the beverage cart through the aisle.

 

The bathroom’s changing table was so small, I wouldn’t have had enough space to diaper a sedated guinea pig. (On previous flights this was not the case.) But, I like to look on the bright side of things: I did finally get to use the coat hook on the door when I searched for a place to place the diaper bag.

Posted on by Noah Lederman in Baby Voyage, Lost In Translation, Or Bust

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