Flying with Formula
It took me a while to begin this post, because I couldn’t decide if the title should be what it is, or “Our Culture Is Hopeless.”
Recently, we flew to Puerto Rico, from Oakland, CA. Due to the logistics, this entailed going through four security checkpoints. As onerous and ridiculous as these can be, we have gotten pretty used to them (which is a sad commentary all in itself), and were basically OK sailing through them.
Except, of course, for the formula.
Jason had Rowan in the Ergo on him, I had Kestrel on me. Kestrel is 21 months old; not a baby any more by anyone’s definition. He’s walking, talking, and pretty huge. Not A Baby. And yet I got pulled aside at each and every checkpoint, to get grilled about whether or not I had formula for the baby. One zealous agent even went so far as to search my bag for the formula I assured her was not there.
OK, follow along here, sportsfans. I am travelling with what is clearly a toddler. And every one of these people assumes my toddler is still on formula.
And yet Emily Gillette was kicked off a plane for breastfeeding a child just a few months younger than Kestrel.
So which is it, folks? If a baby is formula-aged, they’re breastmilk-aged, and that should be OK, but it isn’t. If they’re not breastmilk-aged, they sure as anything shouldn’t be sucking down formula. Where did we get so off-course? How did we become so backwards, so contrary to millennia of human evolution?
It’s a quandary that I ponder… while I nurse my not-such-a-baby. Good thing none of those guards wanted to check my carry-on milk supply.