Coming to America: surviving our first long-haul flight

It was all New York’s fault. We’d arrived at the airport, checked in to the news we had two seats together next to the bassinet, and even had a hugely cheerful man on security watching me taste pureed fruit.

And then we discovered our flight to Minneapolis was running two hours late thanks to bad weather in the Big Apple which had delayed the plane’s arrival.

Fortunately, when I’d packed, I’d thrown in some extra bottles, food and nappies, just in case. I sometimes think I live my life by the mantra of just in case…

But my hugely complicated plan of when Minnie should nap and eat, broken down into two time zones, hadn’t accounted for any delays.

Also fortunately, I only half understood my own calculations, so we pretty much played it by ear, adding in a bit of extra food and bottle when she seemed to want them.

On the plus side, the pilot decided he would put his foot down (or push a lever forward, if we’re trying to keep metaphors vaguely accurate) shaving an hour off the actual time in the air so we only arrived about an hour late. I reckon that might be a trade off I’m willing to make.

And the flight itself. Well, it could have been worse. Did Minnie yell? Yes. Did she yell a lot? Not by my standards – and I think even the other passengers could manage with five or 10 minutes here or there in eight hours.

As ever, in between, she batted her eyelashes and fixed everyone in her big blue gaze, with a winning smile thrown in, and added a new legion of fans.

She even fitted in the bassinet. Just.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t impressed by it, whether it’s the small size, the unfamiliarity or not being able to see out, so we only managed about 30 minutes of her lying in and playing with her toys while we had lunch.

But along with a few naps in my arms, a bit of Monsters Inc on the inflight entertainment and a new rustly crackly chewable book (Where is the elephant? I won’t spoil the ending) and we all made it through in one piece.

I’ve got to admit I miss being able to kick back with a movie (although I managed a glass or two of wine while I read one-handed), and I didn’t even open my netbook to do some work.

And flying with an eight-month-old is more work than a four-month-old – last time, she slept pretty much the whole time and was a lot lighter!

But it was far from the nine-hour nightmare that people tend to assume you’ll face.

Image courtesy of Depositphotos