You know when you arrive at an airport, with toddler in tow, three hours before you depart, that you’re not in for an easy time of it. Yes, three hours, and it wasn’t an international flight. But three hours early was better than wrangling everything on public transport.
When you arrive to check in and they inform you that the flight has been delayed by 45 minutes, you know it’s bad.
When they don’t update the delay on the departures board and you think it’s not delayed after all, that’s just cruel.
When you realise that not only is it delayed, but it’s delayed by another 45 minutes, it’s hell.
When I saw another mother in the changing room, she insinuated that it must be so much easier to deal with a delay like that with a toddler as opposed to a baby. I didn’t say that it was much easier before Riley was walking. I just smiled and said nothing. Poor thing will find out soon enough.
My carry on was too heavy to carry around, so we couldn’t really do that much walking. If it weren’t for the crayons and the dvds I would have gone insane within an hour. But after three, Riley was bored out of her skull, aggravated to the extreme, and alternating between crying in frustration and demanding ‘me!, me!, me!’ (it doesn’t really mean anything in particular – that’s just what she says when she wants something).
At a certain point I thought a bottle would be helpful, but had packed the bottle in my checked baggage. I asked the staff, they offered me a foam cup. Not helpful.
And just as I was approaching tears, I came a across as a couple with a 10 month old and luckily Riley found young Jasper entertaining enough that we were ok until we could board the plane.
So, thanks Virgin Blue, thanks to your delay, I could have gotten their faster if I drove. And by the end of the day if I heard ‘Me!’ I might have punctured my own eardrum. Luckily, we arrived safelty and she (and I) slept for the whole flight.
My name is Zoey. 
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