Baby on a Plane

That's right readers, aside from this I believe that taking a baby on a plane by myself is my second greatest fear. A fear I faced on Friday. Here's a numeric recap of our aviation adventures.

2: The number of flights we took from the ATL to Las Vegas (from which Mom and Dad drove us to Provo after visiting family).

13: The number of zip lock bags I used to organize all the stu-zuff we carried onto the plane.

1: The number of sippies of milk that leaked.

2: The number of hours our second flight was delayed.

1: The number of "wings" the flight attendant gave us (I was so excited!)

4: The number of Baby Einstein movies Jacob, me, and the people behind us watched.

4 million three hundred ninety-two thousand: The number of steps Jacob took in the Dallas-Ft. Worth Airport.

1: The number of white pants Jacob spilled a cup-full of water on (note: the white pants were neither mine nor his...oops.)

3: The number of crying fits Jacob had.

1: The number of crying fits mommy had...during Jacob's third cry my tears (silently) flowed too.

43: The number of signs hanging in stores announcing that NO LIQUID WAS ALLOWED ABOARD THE PLANE (except baby liquids).

10: The number of areas in the Dallas-Ft. Worth Airport that Jacob sprinkled with finger foods (Cheerios, Veggie Puffs, and the like).

10: The number of times I walked right past those areas without picking anything up...they pay people to do that, so sue me!

15: The number of minutes Jacob slept on the plane (so cruel).

20: The number of consecutive hours I was awake on Friday.

742: The number of people who oohed and aahed over my cute baby boy.

Infinity: The number of times I was grateful that we were flying across the country instead of driving across the country. (shudder)

Infinity + 1: The number of times I was grateful for such a delightful, if not demanding, travel partner.