Watch the news tomorrow afternoon, because we're going to try to get through airport security with scissors, wire cutters, 48 ounces of liquid in a cooler, another zillion ounces of a variety of liquidy squishy things in the med bag, 7 carry-ons, and at least one oxygen tank.
Right now, some unfortunate person is kicking back with a Coors, watching TV and never imagining what they will encounter in their role as TSA bag-checker-outer tomorrow morning. My husband, Ike, the laden-down stroller, my dad, an airline agent and I will all be parading toward this unsuspecting person in the morning with the Wicked Witch of the West music playing in the background (or maybe just in my head).
And can you imagine if we have to wait in a long line? I can totally see the slow-motion look of sheer "OH SHIT" on the face of the hapless business man who gets stuck behind us. "Sorry for taking 40 minutes to get through security, Business Dude! Must be karma for complaining about the baby on the last flight you were on!"
As it stands, I think we're as prepared as we can be. We have letters of medical necessity for everything we need that otherwise breaks the rules. We're all packed. I have my Judy Garland trail mix* at the ready. And I am preparing a litany of Trachs on a Plane jokes.
All systems are a go. Here's hoping the launch isn't scrubbed and/or doesn't end up in a fiery crater in the middle of America's Heartland.
* Thanks to Nancy W. Kappes, Paralegal, via The Bloggess, for this handy and hilarious turn of phrase. As of now, my Judy Garland Trail Mix consists of Propranolol, Target-flavored Xanax, B12, Imodium, and my very last, highly coveted, Zofran tablet. Mama's ready!