‘Ooooooh Oscar we’re going on an aeroplane, Wowwwwww look at that


This is me… Being the overly enthusiastic mother ready to board our aeroplane. Eyeing up every single mofo boarding the flight. Praying to high heavens they’re baby tolerant. Skip forward five minutes to being PRIORITY BOARDED (SO SKIPPING THE QUEUE THAT THESE PEOPLE HAVE SO DESPERATELY FOUGHT FOR THEIR PLACE IN)  with a baby in a pushchair and suddenly…. those chilled,  retired,  hawaii shirt wearing turds WANTED ME DEAD.

So.. Bad start. Next up. Praying the seat next to us is empty. NOPE. so, not only are we blocked in by someone.. Not only is there not actually enough room for my legs, let alone an over tired baby, an ipad full of Disney, a bag full of bottles, 10packs of hardboiled sweets and a teething ring. But we also can’t just NIP to the loo with the poonami baby.

I mean.. I’m not trying to put anybody off flying, but England has some great beaches.. That really I’ve never given a shit about until trying to fly with a 7month old.

You starve them of sleep, praying they sleep on the plane.

You push that bottle a touch later so they’re sucking on something for takeoff.

You really truly convince yourself there teething is bad and they NEED a dose of calpol. ‘don’t you think his cheeks look red? He’s really grizzly too.. Infact I swear he’s done a teething poo today.. We should probably give him calpol shouldn’t we?’ 

And then… That’s right… You finally FINALLY get the child to sleep, despite the tutting and funny looks, you hit a teeeeeeeny bit of a turbulence and that baby on your lap now needs A seat belt on. That’s right, the baby that is lying across yours and your other halves lap, needs a tiny little orange seat belt right round the middle of his waist. And there’s no ‘holding it round you’ like your nan used to do in the car.. Oh No that trolley dolly bitch wants you to wake that little silent sleeping child and cause puuuuuure mayhem. BITCH.