So Bear is not my good luck talisman...

I've actually been working on this post for almost a week, but I lost it mid-week, and incidentally lost my will to write. Hope you enjoy.

It's no secret that I tend to have lousy air travel experiences. Here's a little reminder of a certain never-ending-trip-to-Ukraine that Amiee and I had. It's just one story among a host of other travels gone wrong. Basically, when I'm flying somewhere- anywhere- I resign myself to the fact that something will probably go amiss and that is ok. It has always worked out, and I can add another story to my repertoire. 

Which brings me to this past Friday. Bearsy and I are visiting Sweet Home Alabama and thusly had to travel by air. (Brad is holding down the fort; he was invited to join, of course, but his schedule would not permit. We miss him.) Our itinerary was simple: Boston to Charlotte. One hour layover. Charlotte to Huntsville. How much could really go amiss?

So much.

Our flight from Boston to Charlotte wasn't bad. Bear's ears gave us no trouble. We were seated next to a very nice lady who loves babies. There was a changing table in the bathroom. All good things.

Charlotte is where things started unraveling. We landed in terminal B and had to hoof it to terminal E. I was wearing Bearsy in a sling and carrying her diaper bag and a tote of my own, so I wasn't as burdened as I could have been (but I was still a tad bit encumbered). We made it to E, and I was even able to pick up a sandwich that I paid for with my debit card but probably could have traded Bear for, given it's price. When I got to the right gate, I made sure the little scrolly screen said "Huntsville 2:19 pm." It did. 

But, it also said "Washington Dulles 2:22 pm."

Huh. That's weird. I had never seen that before. I got seated and got Claire set up with her paci and lovey and then heard the US Airways gal making an announcement that she realized both destinations were listed and that she was trying to find out what gate the Huntsville flight was actually supposed to leave from. I made a mental note not to get too comfortable because we'd probably be leaving soon.

2:19 pm loomed nearer and nearer and no announcement was made about where we should relocate to. I started getting a little antsy about our flight being delayed, because I had timed Claire's eating schedule to coincide with take offs and landings (you know, so her ears would pop and she wouldn't experience excruciating pain). I realized my plan was derailed, so I went ahead and gave her a bottle that I had...ahem...prepared in advance for her (please note that she is exclusively nursed, so preparing a bottle in advance takes a little effort on my part. This is an important element to the story. And, yes, if you're male or really not interested in reading about baby-feeding mishaps and how it affects that baby's nursing mother, you might want to skip the rest of this post. Please consider yourself warned.). Claire was only about halfway through her bottle when the announcement was made to inform us that the Huntsville flight was not delayed but CANCELED and would we please make our way down to the customer service desk for rebooking.

Great. Everyone stampeded down to the customer service desk, leaving me, my baby, and our stuff in their dust...and incidentally at the back of the line. I called mom to let her know the change of plans, and she got on the phone with US Airways while I waited in line so that we could attack the problem from two sides. My mother is nothing if not proficient in dealing with her offsprings' wonky travel issues. 

So there I was, holding a fussy baby who just wanted her bottle forgoodnesssake, and sliding her diaper bag along with my foot (ew...I try not to think about that). I eventually got rebooked for the 10:35 pm flight (it was 2:30 at this point). I was less than thrilled at the prospect of having to keep Claire in the airport all day and mess with her sleep schedule so thoroughly, but I know babies are rather resilient and worse things could happen. As I resigned myself to this, my mom called with good news that the US Airways folks had gotten me on a Delta flight to Atlanta (followed by a flight to Huntsville), but I had to start booking it NOW. I scooped up Bearsy (who had fallen asleep after crying and not being able to finish her food...I know...SAD) and started moving. Mom said I needed to stop at the nearest US Airways desk to have someone put in a transfer for my bags...and request a little motorized cart driver to hurry me along. I managed to get both of those things done. Well, sort of. The cart only carried me to the end of the E terminal, where I had to switch to my own ambulatory skills because of an escalator situation. 

Bearsy and I made our way back the B terminal (imagine me with a bag bouncing on each shoulder, a wobbly-headed baby strapped to my front, sweating profusely [me, not the baby], and panting like a weary desert traveler) and got in line to talk to the Delta folks about getting my boarding pass. I did talk to them and was told that, even though I had a confirmation number, I couldn't get on the plane because I had no reservation. 

Um...does. not. compute. 

She explained again, and I looked at her, despairingly. I hobbled over to a chair and started giving Bearsy the rest of her bottle (she had awakened and realized her hunger after the hobble-run I had just put her through) while I called Mom to explain. Neither of us understood. She told me to go back and give her the ticket number that she (Mom) had just received from the US Airways gal. I did. 

I was told the same thing.

I must have looked a mess, because the Delta rep said she would make it happen. Please keep in mind that the plane was completely loaded at this point and they were paging random passengers that had never shown. It was a Hail Mary pass of sorts. (Incidentally, that football term was coined at Boston College. Doug Flutie. 1984.) 

She worked on the computer and got us on the plane (found out from Mom later that the US Airways representative she talked to on the phone stayed on the phone with her the whole time to make sure this happened). I had to make my way to aisle 20 with everyone on the plane watching, and I had to take a middle seat, but at least I was on my way.

I was out of bottles for Claire, so I prayed fervently for her ears and made her suck on her paci like it was her job. She did beautifully, even with the screaming two-year-old who was in front of us. I, on the other hand, was starting to feel a taddy bit uncomfortable, thanks to the fact that our feeding schedule had gotten off track, and I'd had no time to...um...deal with the situation, if you get me. 

Our flight to Atlanta boarded on time...and then sat for a while because of weather. By my watch's calculations, we were going to have about 30 minutes to get to our Huntsville-bound flight once we landed in Atlanta. I was close on the time estimate: we actually had 15 minutes. And, naturally, we had to get from terminal D to B. I ran. In sandals. And walked up the escalator. 

I arrived sweaty, out-of-breath, and looking like a hobo...only to find that we'd missed the flight by TWO MINUTES. Of course. I dragged us down to the Delta customer service desk and a very nice man rebooked us for the 7:22 flight. The lady behind the desk with him told me that she had seen me running for my flight and that I had been "earning it." I'm glad someone appreciated my efforts.

Since we had a bit of time before our next flight, I decided that it was time to take care of a few things, like using the bathroom (since I hadn't used the bathroom for 8 hours...seriously) and dealing with the...um...feeding/bottle situation. 

Remember how earlier I said that you might not want to read parts of this post? This is your final warning; if you continue reading and are horrified, I cannot be held liable. 

Ready? Seriously, last chance.

Ok, so Bearsy and I headed to a bathroom, hoping to find one of those stalls that has a baby changing station. Alas, there was not one. I settled for a large, handicapped stall (there was more than one, so I wasn't leaving anyone completely high and dry). Now, part of my struggle was that I didn't have anywhere to set Bearsy down, since I was carrying her in a sling. As there was no changing table to strap her into, I had to be resourceful. I decided that that taking care of the bottle situation was of greater priority to my well-being than actually using the bathroom, so I sat on the toilet, fully clothed, and settled Bearsy on my lap. She fell asleep (sort of; the toilets kept flushing and disturbing her), and I got to work. (Incidentally, the automatic toilet flushing was problematic for me, as the toilet I was sitting on kept flushing. Oi. How nice is that?)

I got out all of my bottle-preparing gear and got to work, while sitting on the toilet with Bearsy on my lap and praying that the automatic flushing situation wouldn't leave my shorts all wet. As I was in this very glamorous and compromising situation, pondering my life and how awkward it was, the lock on my stall door turned, the door opened, and a janitor lady got a full-on shot of it all. 

And then, she stood there gawking for more than a couple of seconds! Thankfully, she came to her senses and shut the door but not before my dignity had disappeared. Goodness gracious.

I finally finished up and moved on to changing Bear's diaper out in the main part of the bathroom (I never did get to use the bathroom, btw). In an awkward turn of events, I caught, out of the corner of my eye, a glimpse of the Stall Door Opener. What was more, she kept staring at me! Perhaps I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that the rule for this kind of situation is that you pretend nothing ever happened and that you don't even see the victim of the awkwardness. Well, Ms. Janitor Lady obviously does not hold to this code, because not only did she stare at me, she spoke to me on my way out! She was just asking about Bear, but I mean. You just don't do that.

After that, things became rather anti-climactic: our next flight was on time and uneventful, we arrived safely and so did our luggage, and I finally got to use the bathroom when we arrived at my parents'. Sort of a disappointing ending, isn't it? 

Anyway, Bear and I agreed amongst ourselves that we're not traveling without Brad again. We just aren't.