Feb 2012 - Chicago Test Run

Flight #1 - United 3462 
New York (LGA) – Chicago (ORD) 
Friday, February 17, 2012 
Depart: 1:59PM / Arrive: 3:36PM 
Duration: 2hr 37min 
Aircraft: Embraer 170 
Miles Earned:  773 miles
Lifetime Miles:  773 miles


My very first time on an airplane was February 17, 2012 going from New York to Chicago on United. The flight was only about 2.5 hours long.

Being a young baby, I have a distorted sense of time. For a 30 year old, an hour is just 60 minutes out of 15.8 million minutes they've been alive.  For me, it's like half the time I've been alive.  Nevertheless, my mother was pretty nervous about taking me on a plane for 2.5 hours (assuming no delays) so she does what any overprotective mother would do, over-pack.

My parents have a funny (but probably not uncommon) dynamic when it comes to packing for trips.  My mother wants to bring everything she might possibly need - just in case.  After countless debates about what/how to pack for a 3 day weekend trip to Chicago, my father finally just gave her a simple rule to follow:  Pack whatever you want, but you're carrying it.

With this mistaken hint of freedom, she started packing furiously as if El Bloombito just declared another hurricano.  Suddenly, there were pairs of her heels and boots being squeezed into the corners in case we were going anywhere nice.  Sweaters and hoodies in case it got cold in the hotel room or during the car ride to the airport.  This was in addition to anything in the house with a Carter's label and enough diapers to last for a week.  At first, she had 3 rolling suitcases.  My father laughed and asked her how she was going to carry everything.  Then she remembered that we also had to bring a car seat and a stroller and, yes, the baby.

Rule #1 - Don't forget the baby.

So they finally got down to bringing 1 carry-on rolling suitcase and 2 backpacks.  Once we got to LaGuardia Airport, we had to wait in line to check our bags.  I hated waiting in line as much as he did so I agreed to my father's devious plot.  After about 2 minutes, I'd start crying hysterically. My mother would pretend to try to feed me a bottle and my father would pick me up and try to comfort me.  We kept the act up until people finally let us go ahead of them.  When I saw the United counter agent's face, I immediately stopped crying and smiled at him.  Note to self:  Guys always love a pretty girl smiling at them.

Since we were checking my car seat, they asked my father if he wanted to check the stroller as well.  And I'm not really a primadonna, but I definitely wanted my wheels until the very last minute.  I convinced my parents to keep the stroller and gate check it instead.  After all, it was free.

The security line wasn't that bad at LGA, but I kept getting a whiff of those Auntie Annie's Pretzels and I was starting to get hungry.  But my mother insisted that I wait to get a bottle only when the plane was taking off. Apparently my tiny ears might be susceptible to the change in air pressure, but the bottle sucking would alleviate it. I just think she didn't like the idea of her little girl loading up on carbs.

When we got to the departure gate, my father took me out of the stroller and I got strapped up into this horrible baby bjorn contraption.  Just imagine yourself hanging from your butt in some hammock gone wrong face first into someone's body.  But worst of all I had no where to hide from my father's BO after he had to lug the oversized car seat through the airport.

I didn't care for having my face planted into his torso so I started to freak out and cry as we boarded the plane.  My mother (having endured many a Dutch Oven since marrying my father) read the situation immediately and took me into her heavenly scented arms.  Like most 3 month old babies, I fell asleep as soon as the humming of the engines started and started dreaming about what my Chelsea neighbor Suri was going to write in her Burn Book that day.