My first plane flight (and Little Berry's too!) ever was yesterday. We were in bed super late last night and up at the wee hours of morning heading to Atlanta on a two something hour drive in the dark, cool dewy summer light.
We flew from Atlanta to DC, and from DC to NYC. Little Berry and I struggled to keep up much of the time, but overall this was onelarge rush of adrenaline. From NYC, we flew nonstop to London. I stayed awake the entire flight, holding my daughter and watching Pappa Starbucks sleep in front of me. We were blessed with a light plane and plenty of room, and as I watched the light change across the world and the sky became unfamiliar, I realized I was on the cusp of a huge moment for myself.
The babe and I were both quite overwhelmed and I am clearly under-packed (not one single long-sleeve shirt in my bag!!) but right now, I am finally no longer STARVING, I've had a nice shower, Little Berry and Pappa Starbucks both are sleeping and I am fighting a losing battle with a new routine, as well as jetlag.
The trains (right outside our window) are loud, everything seems to be covered in graffiti, but so far everyone has been extremely helpful- twice yesterday I was helped with the stroller up a flight of (huge) stairs (what's with all the stairs here, anyway?) by a complete stranger, and our hotel clerk let us in our room 3 hours early because of just how dagum tired we were.
AND fed us breakfast for free.
Tomorrow begins our first day of exploring and we will see just how lost we manage to get exploring Europe with a baby in tow. For now I will be happy if we manage to not hurt ourselves or stick out like crazy tourists.
