So, yes I moved into the cuddly small rent house in the city with my little one to be with his dad. It felt like the best thing even minutes before boarding the flight.
That was my first flight (although a very short one) with a baby. I was expecting my child to feel uncomfortable considering his proactive behaviours, but of course I was expecting a lot more positive things which could overlap with it and still make it fun filled. The first blow came from the very polite air hostess who, after a brisk briefing of the flights baby safety measures, announced that there's going to be no baby bassinet. Little did I know that it was only the beginning.
And so the crew announces the take off and the flight starts moving towards the runway. I was told to feed the baby during that time to avoid the discomforts of change in air pressure. I had "squeezed my energy" out into a feeding bottle early that day (considering the flight was at 4 am, and in my memory there was no night in between, it seemed to be the same day to me). I jammed the nipple into my sons ever hungry mouth. As he started quenching his thirst, I looked around (and at the guy sitting next to me) with pride and in peace that I didn't have to unbutton my top to do my duty and embarrass myself. Meanwhile the plane had spread it's wings and got itself speeding somewhere into the limitless sky, I completely forgot to look out of the window and catch a bird's-eye view of my hometown like I always do. A couple of minutes later, my son is done with the bottle and he spits the nipple out. It's Play time he signaled loudly. Yes, 4 AM's usually his fun time. He started giggling which soon became his calls for frustration. I give him his toy which he throws away in disgust, he didn't want a soother either. His mumbles were growing into screams and there were eyes all around giving me razor sharp looks. The stranger next to me took pity on me and decided not to show his discomfort but I could clearly read it on his face.
Oh god! What now?! That was answered pretty soon. The pilot announces that flight has started its decent. Oops! There was only one bottle of milk! I'm gonna have to breastfeed him now! And thus, thousands of feet above Tamil Nadu, my shame and dignity bid goodbye. Thanks to the kind gentlemen who dug their faces into their newspapers and books. Also to those who pretended to be sleeping. In the middle of all that, my poor baby couldn't bear the pain of flying (cheap) and started screeching and screaming at the top of his lungs. Those pearls that rolled down his cheeks burnt my heart but there was little I could do. I cursed myself for putting my son through that torture. I don't remember how long that lasted, at the time of touch down he sleeps in my arms - tired.
And the story begins here...
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