Me and J have just returned from a long weekend in the South of France with a now 12 week old N. We’re crazy right? Yes, yes we are.

We get to the airport and N’s still asleep as it’s early. We get through security without a hitch, grab something to eat and head for the gate. All is going well, N’s still sleeping and I’m pretty confident he’ll sleep through the flight. We queue up to board and I nip off to the loo as my bladder control isn’t what it used to be and plane toilets freak me out – someone told me once that when you flush you get 10 seconds to get out and it flushes the entire room? I think this is bullsh*t but I never risk it. So I walk back from the loo and it’s all kicked off. I see J holding N and he is losing his shit. Apparently he started screaming as soon as I walked away from his pram… which kind of makes me happy I’ll be honest, maybe he does love me a little. I cuddle him and he calms down. We then had the inevitable argument with the Ryanair staff over the fact N has J’s surname and not mine. Yes I am his mother, no I have not kidnapped him etc.

Eventually we get on and I immediately whip out all the baby tools I have; milk, dummies, toys, ipad filled with baby sensory videos, blankets, muslins. I could set up a store with the amount of crap on my tray table, honestly. Just as the staff start their safety demonstration I feel, hear and smell N do a thunder poo. I know it’s bad. I just know that it’s gone everywhere and that this is going to be a fucking nightmare. Of course the seatbelt signs are still on so I can’t even move. The smell starts circulating so I’m burying him in blankets to try and keep it contained. It’s another 30 minutes until I can finally dash to the loo with him.

I took J with me for back up which was pointless as I could barely fit in the loo by myself let alone with him. I’m on my own in there, OK I can do this. I fold the ‘changing table’ down and I kid you not it’s barely bigger than my seat tray table. Same material too (hard plastic with absolutely no grip). I’ve had to lay N down diagonally just to get him on and he is not happy. As soon as I remove his trousers and baby grow I can see the damage. It’s up the back, it’s up the front, it’s out the sides. Trying to remove a shit covered vest from a baby who is screaming, at 20,000 feet, is nigh on impossible. During the procedure, inevitably, both N and I get covered in the yellow stuff. He is now naked, covered in his own crap and sliding around on this crappy plastic tray whilst I try and scrape the shit off my jumper. He is also screaming so loud I’m half expecting to walk out the loo with him and immediately be tackled to the ground for child abuse. I end up stuffing his shitty clothes into the plane bin, wiping him down with both wipes and tap water and carrying him back to our seats with his baby grow undone.

I’m pretty sure we both stunk of shit the entire flight but he ended up going to sleep after that and I could relax. Why does this always happen to me? Anyway, all that aside we had a lovely weekend. Our first little family holiday!