Aidan has officially traveled. At 3w5d old, I put him in his easiest-to-access-the-diaper outfit, strapped him to myself in our beloved Moby, crossed every finger I had, and headed to the airport.
I was most worried about getting through security with my baby and his enormous stroller, carseat, and diaper bag. Turns out, when you're young and cute AND YOU HAVE A TINY BABY, everyone's your very best friend. The guys at security helped us breeze right through, no problemo. In fact, everyone we encountered fell in love with him, though naturally assumed that he was born a mere fifteen seconds ago because of his - ahhem - small stature. In fairness, I think the moby makes him look extra small.
I nursed in public at the airport, and the only ones who seemed to care were some old bags carrying (wait for it!) old bags, who pointed and stared and told each other loudly that girls in THEIR day (a few centuries back) were "modest with their bodies." Naturally this made me want to dance shirtless atop the ticket counter. I didn't though, I just let Mr. Aidan have his fill and stuffed him back into the Moby.
He handled the flight really, really well. Not a peep out of him, seriously. I thought he'd want to nurse during takeoff, but he was sleeping and didn't feel like being awoken, tyvm. What he DID want to do was stretch out all over my lap, making it very difficult for me to lower my tray table and enjoy my complimentary snack. See that lap full of giant baby, wubbanub, and blankie? That would indeed be MY lap.
The trip was more awesome than any trip ever (I checked. It was. This is not an exaggeration) in that Aidan got to see my mom (who adores him to death, okay maybe not DEATH, but ever so close) and his 12yo Aunt Laura (who had never seen anything as tiny as my son's hands, apparently).