Oh DEAR GOD changing a screaming baby in an airplane bathroom is a new level of stress, discomfort and AHHHHHH.
Just taking myself back there is traumatic.
It felt like MacGyver trying to diffuse a stinky, squirming, stinky bomb.
And bomb this was! It was like Noah’s gut was pressurized and then released like a giant stomped on a plastic ketchup bottle splattered everywhere.
But that’s not all…the SHRIEKING!!!!
Oy! I am sure these bathrooms are not sound proof. I could feel the judgement through the thin airplane door, the disapproving shaking heads, and the impatient sighs, as the butt wiping continued through several travel packs of wipes.
After what seemed like a full hour in the tiny airplane bathroom, I finally got the baby clean, diapered and out. As I exited, I was waiting for the airplane marshals to tackle for abuse and take away my baby.
We had Noah on several flights over the summer, and I’ve changed him in some public places, but the small confines, the volume and the pure baby terror screams is one that will be hard to forget…
On the lighter side, he is loved by strangers and taking him through the airlines aisles while trying to avoid meltdowns is fun.
This world would be a better place if everybody treated each other like they were a cute baby.