Sometimes Flying First Class Results in Poopy Flight

My daughter, her husband, and my 21-month-old grandson, Henry, recently flew to Florida. My daughter texted me that Henry had loved "fwying" and had been so well-behaved that the flight down had been "completely stress-free."

We'd all had our reservations, of course, what with Henry being so young and it being only the second time he's flown. The first time he flew he was ten months old. Henry did fine. But on the return flight from Las Vegas his dad, Michael, was rendered completely incapacitated with a stomach ailment, and had depleted an entire row of barf bags before the flight even took off. While her husband wretched in the window seat, my daughter, Carrie, seated in the middle, attempted to keep Henry still -- who squirmed and fussed and repeatedly swatted the head of a wide-eyed, horrified-looking man seated on my daughter's right in the aisle seat. Unbeknownst to this passenger, however, was the fact that my son was seated several rows back. When the heaving and the screeching baby reached unmanageable levels for my daughter, she called her brother on her cell phone and asked him if he would mind coming up to sit with her to help out. When Carrie leaned over to ask her seatmate if he would mind trading seats with her brother, he virtually vaulted out of his seat, dropped to his knees in the aisle and converted from atheism to Christianity that very instant, having witnessed proof of the existence of a good and merciful God.

On this return trip from Florida, Henry and his parents somehow scored seats in business class. My daughter sent me a cell phone photo of Henry sitting on daddy's lap in their plush accommodations.

The following day Henry's dad brought him over. I excitedly asked Henry about his airplane ride.

"Henry, did you fly on an airplane?" I asked excitedly.

He looked up from his toys and replied, "Poop."

Hmm. Either he wasn't as thrilled with business class as his mother, or he was asking to be put on the potty.

Do you want to use the big potty?" I asked.

"No," he confirmed.

The next day the mystery of the cryptic poop reply would be unraveled when I commented to my daughter how fortunate she was to have gotten bumped up to business class on their flight home. She then went on to tell me that because of Henry, their flight had almost been delayed.

"We waited until last to get on the plane," she explained, "so that we wouldn't have to try to keep Henry still while everyone else boarded."

"And as soon as we sat down, Henry pooped his diaper."

With only minutes until takeoff, Carrie took Henry into the bathroom and hastily changed his diaper, while the flight attendant stood outside telling her to hurry it up, they were about to take off.

She got back to her seat, got Henry strapped into his seat, and off they flew into the wild blue yonder. But no sooner had they climbed a thousand feet when Henry's parents smelled a strong, familiar odor coming from the vicinity of his freshly changed diaper.

Even the flight attendant smelled it.

"Do you need a bag for that soiled diaper?" she leaned over and diplomatically whispered once they got to cruising level.

The soiled diaper she referred to had already been disposed of in the bathroom. But there was definitely another soiled diaper in the vicinity -- again.

"He pooped AGAIN!" Carrie lamented.

Well, that explains Henry's brief remarks about his airplane ride. He pretty much covered the high points in one word.

And if airlines announce new rules in the coming weeks barring kids who still wear diapers from flying in business class, you'll know why.