So it turns out?

Nine hours on a plane with a toddler? Yeah. That’s some shit.

Le BF has been rolling his eyes and professing how, overly dramatic, I’ve been about the flight home.

But, People. I’m not. That’s just me and part of this “just me” is having high levels of stress assault my system on nine hour plane rides.

In truth, FoH kicked some flight ass. Really, he was awesome. However. That is not to say there weren’t some tense, touch and go moments. There most certainly were.

You parents know the ones and those of you sans enfants at the moment {without children} also know the ones — both mother and father doing the pass off to attempt to pacify only to have said child arch back and start repeatedly shrieking those two lovely letters of, no.

Thankfully these little bouts lasted no longer than 5-10 minutes. Most likely this was around the five mark, but it felt like it could have been 5 hours. I just get so nervous in these situations, People.

I try to stay calm. I might look like I’m all calm and collected but inside I am one scrambling nervous heart palpitation wreck.

On the other-hand, Le BF shines in these sorts of situations. He actually is calm and collected. It’s awesome to know you can count on your partner to balance you out like that.

Another awesome factor was our flight crew. There were two stewards who were particularly amazing to FoH and let him have free reign of the pastry cart in first class. That came in clutch.

I tell ya, it pays to be a cute kid, People.

Now we’re just at one flight to go. FoH and I fly out of D.C. in a couple hours. When you’ve survived a nine hour flight, a one hour and 15 minute one is nothing.

We’ve got this.