Our little family flew to Manila over the weekend on business. Chris was talking to investors for his next film. Malaya was there for moral support. I was there to feed Malaya.
Mommy and Daddy were probably more excited about him flying than the boy was. We seriously hope this is the first of many many flights. We both agree that travel is a great tool for education. If the different sights and sounds don't expand your world view a little, at least the vacation from routine helps you think fast on your feet.
Check out this article for reasons travel is educational if that doesn't convince you.
But maybe the boy's still too young to fully appreciate travel. We booked a 3AM Cebu Pac flight, so that the boy would sleep through it. We were worried about his ears popping too, but left the sterilizer behind because he won't put it in his mouth for more than a few seconds.
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I know Cebu Pacific's had it bad recently, but we figured lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place anyway. Also, there are more roadside accidents than airplane accidents. That didn't keep me from playing Final Destination scenarios in my head as we headed to the airport. Chris and I started talking about dying on a plane and the what-ifs of survival. Because if only one of us survived, either Malaya would end up becoming Harry Potter with a handful of would-be-guardians calling dibs on the Sirius Black role, or... no. Any other alternative would be too painful to imagine.
His name in the ticket was Master Malaya Chawdhury Linaban. "Master" was an option, and it seemed more appropriate than "Mr." anyway. I nursed him throughout the flight. I think he eventually learned that nursing comforts the ear ringing sensation at high altitudes, because he kept to the breast and sucked vigorously during take-off and descent.
