The tribe has spoken.
With my Mum pretty seriously unwell, the time has come for me to take the plunge.
The '25 hour flight with a child' plunge.
Magoo and I will head over to Ireland to be with my Mum this weekend
(not FOR the weekend, as the travel itself takes pretty much a weekend).
The plan is for us to cheer Mum up and spend some precious time together - or drive her so demented that she makes a miraculous recovery in order to get rid of us.
I've held this blissful fantasy for about three years now, that one random day
(well, Christmas Eve, my birthday, Magoo's Christening and birthdays - in particular)
my Mum would ring me from Perth airport or just turn up at my door.
We've offered so many times to fly her here and I've been known to beg more than ask in my darker hours of motherhood and marriage.
Anyhow, that fantasy has been put to the side with the reality that my Mum won't be flying anywhere in the near future.
So it is time for Magoo to meet his Nanny - and for his Mummy to face one of her greatest fears*.
I'm not afraid of flying as such.
I'm a nervous flyer, but I'll happily suck it up to get to point B.
Especially if B is for Borneo, Bali, Broome, Brisbane - you know, locations within a 6 hour flight path of home.
I am fearful of mind numbing boredom on an epic scale.
Of toddler whinging, tantrums and repetitive questions with no escape hatch.
Of a cramped, confined space for a whole day.
Of prolonged, seated discomfort and serious sleep deprivation.
I have made the flight from 'Home Australia' to 'Home Ireland' many times, hating it each and every one.
I feel physical pangs of guilt and anxiety when I think about putting Magoo (and our fellow passengers) through such a looong flight.
Yep, I'll be that woman who no one makes eye contact with on boarding in case they end up as my neighbour. As if just looking at us will somehow render their seat next to ours.
I also feel butterflies of excitement at the prospect of seeing some much longed for family at the end of the haul.
At the thought of introducing Magoo
(who will be like a feral animal and probably be quarantined, I'm sure)
to his Nanny, Uncle, Grandad, 2nd cousins and all my crazy clan.
Magoo is delighted at the thought of visiting more 'planeports' and seeing his beloved Aunty Fiono again. He just wants to know if his Nanny will have a car seat for him (is cabin fever hereditary?!) and if he can go on the plane with the red tail (QANTAS Club, anyone?!). He has sweetly asked me if I think my brother will like him. Bless.
(My brother will LOVE Magoo as his nephew is a mini him. Scarily so.)
I have a coupla hundred things to do, buy, pack and organise before Sunday - but for some strange reason I don't really care.
I'm going home to my 'people'.
If your own people won't lend you a damn toothbrush or a pair of knickers, who will?
Here I am preparing for an Irish Summer!
Any 'air travel avec little person' tips?
*I will not even entertain writing about what my actual greatest fear is, because I'm nowhere near ready to acknowledge it in print.