Brody's first plane ride

Brody took his first plane ride this weekend to visit my dear friends in Hillsdale, Michigan. He got to meet Andrea, Sharon, Crystal and, a new friend, Hillary. He loved them all dearly and flirted shamelessly. I can see already I'm going to have my hands full when the time comes.

Here's how I described our travels in my Daily Press column:
Baby knows how to take advantage of uncomfortable flight

Here’s a tip: If your baby cries loud enough on an airplane, you just might get bumped to first class.

To give my 9-month-old son a little bit of credit, he behaved well through the first two legs of our flight to Michigan. It was the flight home that irked him.

It was two months ago that I cavalierly made the decision to take our first flight. Since we were going to visit one of my college friends, my husband opted out of the Easter weekend vacation. I couldn’t bear to leave our firstborn for a whole four days, so I made arrangements for him to travel with me.

I was a little nervous about the journey, but I didn’t worry too much since we only had two hourlong flights to endure.

As we strolled toward our departure gate, I tried not to acknowledge too many of the pitying looks and knowing nods from other glassy-eyed parents. How hard could it really be?

But those pitiful glances turned into glares backed by four-letter words as we chose a seat at the gate. Waiting passengers eyed Brody carefully, trying to ascertain whether he would turn this connecting flight to Philadelphia into the journey from hell.

And when he cried for a few seconds as I prepared his bottle, a few nearby passengers shifted in their seats.

"This is going to be fine," I thought, trying to console myself. "This is obviously a group of ultra-sensitive business travelers."

We boarded the plane, and my prayers were answered — a woman sat down next to us and immediately cooed at Brody.

We spent the remainder of that hour singing with an Elmo hand puppet and reading through a nursery rhyme book. One traveler even thanked us for the quiet flight as we deplaned.

And aside from a baby food episode that left my pants covered in applesauce, the second, and final, flight of the day also ended without the wails of a frustrated baby.

Admittedly, there’s a bit of a trade-off to keep an active 9-month-old baby quiet on an airplane. The passengers immediately beside, behind and in front of you endure endlessly repeated nursery songs, baby babble and, yes, some physical attacks.

I considered it a triumph, though, that the gentlemen in front of us only got slapped on the head once, and our patient seat-mate smiled when Brody smacked her with the safety brochure. Apparently, a physical assault is preferable to an assault on the eardrums.

So when we headed back to the airport four days later, I had a little more confidence. Brody and I were now experienced travelers.

This time, though, after 20 minutes of trying to keep my Tasmanian devil contained inside the tiny parameters of our seat, he decided this just wasn’t going to do. The wails started.

And, how embarrassing, here came the flight attendant.

As she picked him up, Brody’s eyes widened and he quieted. After a few seconds of looking out at the passengers seated around us, I saw him give a sheepish little wave, as if to say "Yes, I am the little boy making all the noise. My bad."

Keeping my head ducked, I maneuvered out of my seat and snatched the noisy little boy to soothe him in the stewardess’ holding area at the front of the plane.

After 30 minutes of standing, rocking and singing, I was looking helplessly for somewhere to sit down. That’s when we hit the jackpot. The flight attendant offered us an open row in first class to relax and play. My high-falutin’ Brody was now content.

As we both sat back infinitely more comfortable, I wondered for a split second whether Brody had been strategizing for this all along.

Sharon also memorialized her time with Brody on her blog. Check it out here.