We found that packing for a trip with a baby was an epic task. Fortunately, Miles pitched in to help.
He didn't seem to get the memo about traveling light, though.
When we took a look at all the bundled baby gear piled up on the curb at Sea-Tac, we knew that our adventure in France would be supported by a logistical train worthy of D-Day.
Miles was ready and eager for takeoff.
He had a fine time all the way from Seattle to New York.
But it couldn't be that easy, could it? No, it couldn't. The next flight was a trial. Our fully loaded plane sat on the tarmac at JFK for three hours (for no particular reason), while our delicately balanced little Muffinhead began to unravel. By the time the flight finally got underway, we had thoroughly exhausted our various amusement techniques, leaving seven hours of pretty much incessant bouncing, feeding and consoling before we touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport, to the relief of ourselves and our fellow passengers alike.
On the bright side, Miles showed a flirtatious side on the flight that he has subsequently retained in Europe. Occasional meltdowns aside, he likes making eye contact with strangers and is quick with a winning smile. Naturally, he makes a lot of friends this way.
When the flight was over, as we were making the obligatory apologies to our neighbors, several of them (no doubt charmed by Miles' antics) assured us that he did great. I'm not sure how they missed the six hours of crying, squirming and screaming.... but if they did, then they did great too.