I used to love flying. I would get ready the night before, challenging myself to pack as lightly as possible. I used to get admiring glances from other passengers when the person at the check-in desk would say, “Just the one case then?” I liked to arrive at least an hour before check-in, so I could leisurely savour a latte before departure. Then I would indulge myself with some glossy magazines, or a good novel, to read during the flight. My preferred seat was against the window, where I could grab some shut-eye without the risk of drooling on the hirsute man seated next to me. But this has all changed since travelling with a 10 month old. Now the suitcase is packed with nappies, extra formula, her clothing, some toys and even a cot sheet or two. My hand luggage comprises more nappies, a changing mat, a cooler bag with snacks, toys (aka distractions), first aid kit, rescue remedy (for me), bottles and a change of clothes. There is no time for a latte. By the time we’ve checked in the baby seat and the luggage it’s time for the fourth nappy change since leaving home. An aisle seat is a must, as I will probably need to brave the bread-bin sized lavatory to attempt yet another nappy change. On a recent trip to Joburg, I arrived with blobs of yoghurt in my hair and cheese stains on my shirt. But the low point of the trip had to be standing up, only to realise that my elasticized trousers (for comfy flying) had slipped down during the flight, giving rows 21 to 40 a surprise show. Fortunately, they were most forgiving, and instead of pointing out my fall from grace, they gushed about how well behaved Erin was during the flight. So, in retrospect, it wasn’t all bad. But next time I fly, I’m wearing a dress!