Flying home

I'm trying to imagine our flights home with Micah. When we came to Perth, Micah was a very different baby. He was crawling and it was relatively easy to calm him with either a pacifier or breast-feeding. Speed ahead 7 months and you may as well have switched him out with another child. He's obviously completely mobile and needs to walk a couple of miles per day to taper down some of that boundless energy. When we go for walks after dinner, Micah always tromps ahead of us, his right arm clutched stationary at his side and his left arm swinging like he's a soldier. He could go on forever if we let him. There's no more pacifiers, no more boob, no more bottle even. He's learned the art of resistance in 7 months = 'oh, if I don't want to do something, I can express my displeasure!' His displeasure usually comes out in the form of screaming and crying or, even better, if we're out walking and he doesn't want to go somewhere, he simply plops down on the ground in protest. Our flights to and from Bali were about 3 1/2 hours and I swear, they felt like 3 days. I'm dreading the 4 hr. flight to Sydney, 2 hr. layover, the 14+ hour flight to L.A., the 3 hr. layover, and then the 3 hr. flight to Houston. If I don't go completely gray by the time we arrive home, it will be a miracle. But, I'll be armed with Play-doh, coloring books, crayons and BENADRYL. And we'll get to Houston, eventually.