I had been trying to pack for our annual trip back to Sydney for Christmas for the past three days. Every single day came with its own obstacle course of reasons why I could not get everything done. Our flight was at 7 o’clock in the evening and as at noon I had:
sweated through one set of clothes;
got a sink full of things to wash up;
one toddler alternating between chasing me around the apartment and wrapping themself around my neck/leg;
suitcases open with the contents flung far and wide (thanks for the assistance UNPACKING, o child of mine).
My heart was pounding with adrenaline or angst. If you would only nap, I kept muttering to myself as I grimly dragged myself around the apartment trying to replace items back in the suitcase, child firmly wrapped around my left calf like a barnacle. IF ONLY.
Another hour went by and finally, finally, naptime. I retreated to the bedroom to lie down and regroup as well. I felt like I had ALREADY been on a redeye flight with a baby. Still needed to make lunch because feeding children is what we do. WOOSA.
In the back of my mind a soundtrack kept playing on a loop, “How the heck is this going to happen?”
I shook my head and thought well let’s just do our best and if anything gets let behind, as long as it’s not the baby that’s fine. As I walked to the kitchen to start making lunch, B said to me, “Hey, your flight has been delayed. By 3 hours.”
THANK YOU UNIVERSE. I bet no one ever appreciates a flight delay but this time I really needed it.
The child slept terribly on the flight as in not at all but was very happy just shimmying around our seats so it all came together.
Our jetlag lasted a week. But I’m still going to call it a win and I am GRATEFUL.