Last month we flew to the east coast with Pumpkin. On the trip out, she slept most of the way and hardly made a peep. We fed her once during the flight and all was calm and happy. We were feeling pretty good about this traveling-with-the-baby thing until the return trip when the plane had mechanical problems and the flight was delayed, pushing the next feeding until exactly the time that the plane was screaming down the runway, resulting in a screaming Pumpkin, and so we became those people – the people who have the misbehaving baby and should know better than to travel with her. Then we had about three hours of terrible turbulence and I’m sure that Pumpkin must have been upset by daddy’s thumping heart since she was snuggled right against it in the Baby Bjorn, and I’m sure that the how-could-you-not-take-cough-medicine-before-this-flight vibe I was sending out to the woman sitting across the aisle from us who coughed for five hours straight was not helping to lighten the atmosphere. Then we had the diaper change incident in which I decided that a quick change on my lap would be fine (who designs a plane with no changing table in the bathrooms?!) and Pumpkin apparently thought that the my jeans looked like a nice place to make a big pee to let us know how much she was not enjoying the flight. And then there was the full ginger ale that spilled onto my lap on top of that, so I’m sure the passengers who saw me get up thought I had gotten a little too nervous myself. But – as the saying goes, all’s well that ends well, and here we are safe and sound, so that is a good ending. And next time we’re driving.