Finley and I braved the skies to come to visit Atlanta, her Grammy and Grandad. I am already plotting an alternate route home. The flight was awful. I got the comment "She sure has a set of lungs on her, doesn't she?"
Prior to boarding, we shared an oyster and shrimp po-boy at Pappadeaux. She loved the fried oysters, but wasn't so into the shrimp. Because she ate so well (and so much), I got her a kids' scoop of ice cream, but she didn't even finish it. She really had loved those oysters.
Waiting for the flight was easy, she was in a great mood. We boarded and she was all smiles. There was a screaming baby boarding right behind us, so I thought "Great, someone to take the heat off us if Finley ever cries." Little did I know that the heat would be entirely on Finley.
We had a whole row to ourselves and I thought it would be perfect. She hated being strapped in, she hated being free, she hated her books, she hated her toys, she threw most any food I gave her and she was all around miserable girl. Poor Finley and mainly deep apologies to everyone else on the flight. I am totally fearful of our return trip. We are on a commuter jet, so the seats are smaller and I am paranoid beyond belief that she will meltdown the entire flight and I won't have as easy access to the toys and books that she will just hate anyhow. Followed by lots of screaming of "NOOOOO" Good times, good times.
I have NO pictures from the plane, it would have been impossible and it really wasn't a memory worth capturing. Sigh.