If you know my husband at all, it’s probably not surprising that he had us watch “Sully” on the eve of our first flight with Ivy. If you’ve ever flown into san francisco, you know that flights take off and land at the very edge of the Bay. So a movie about a plane crash on the Hudson River, a foggy landing with nothing besides water out the window till the last second, and our first series of flights with our beautiful 2.5 month old daughter… make for a terrific combination. ( If this adds any clarity, he also likes to sit window seat behind the wing because “watching the wing bounce during turbulence is one of my favorite things”.) This is one of the challenges of being married to the love of my life. Ivy decided to bring her set of obstacles on the flight as well. She does not like cabin pressure, she definitely does not like take offs and ascents and so far on her short stint on earth she cannot stand airplane bathrooms or the activity of being changed on the plane. Our second flight from Chicago to Denver ( because there were three total) created the perfect storm of these newly discovered disdains. Ivy had an explosive poop right after the seat belt sign turned on signaling impending departure. Boby and I looked at each other in horror as it dawned on us that we were likely going to have to wait until we were well in the skies to change her. The front wheel left the ground as Ivy’s diaper started to leak through her clothes forcing us to change our screaming daughter (who learned a whole new range of octaves on this flight) on our laps while the plane was quickly gaining altitude. Despite all of these obstacles, once on the ground the fog cleared. Customs was the fastest and seemingly the least scrupulous experience of our collective experiences with international travel. One of our closest friends, Jenne, was there to scoop us up. It felt like San Francisco turned on its lights just for us as we drove towards its skyline.