God Help Me, I'm Flying with a Toddler
I'm a nervous traveler. I arrive at my airport two hours early and make a beeline for my gate. Then I sit at the gate and check the gate number, the gate display info, my ticket, my watch, the gate number, my watch, the gate display info, my ticket, my ticket again just to make sure, my back pocket to make sure I haven't dropped my driver's license somewhere between security and the gate, and my gate number again.
My hubs, on the other hand, is rarely rattled. He doesn't get nervous traveling, even that time he was almost arrested on a train in Germany. That's why my husband and I are good travel partners. He is in charge of getting me where I need to go with the least amount of anxiety possible, and I am in charge of making sure all of his underwear fits into his carry-on. It's win-win (especially for the other vacationers who don't have to see his Frank and Beans all week). However, our nice set-up is about to get blown to smithereens when I board a plane by myself with a toddler for the first time next week. We're going to need a lot of Xanax. And I'll probably take some too.
In advance of this experience, I'd like to write a few open letters:
To the TSA people -- Look, I know you're just trying to do your job, and we both know that nobody likes you. But please give me a little leeway and show a little kindness, because although you know the ins and outs of what can be put through the x-ray machine (diaper bags) and what cannot (children), I don't know these things. I have no idea whether I will have to drag a screaming child through a backscatter machine. I can only imagine the pictures that will be transmitted to those reviewing the images. It'll be a lot like that scene from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (the Ben Stiller movie, not the short story). And if I don't have to do a backscatter, do I have to submit him to a pat-down? That's not going to go over well. He's both shy and quite ticklish.
To the other travelers in my departing airport -- I have a running dialog with my toddler. I apologize in advance for the 47 times I will ask "Do you see the plane? Plane! See it? See the plane! It goes vrrroooooom! Yeah, that's a plane! It's a big plane, isn't it?" I realize this is annoying to everyone, because it's also annoying to me. But remember he's a tiny little knowledge sponge, and my explaining everything is expanding his brain and improving his vocabulary. Ignore us if you can, or maybe engage him in some polite conversation if you like. He has some intriguing theories on whether Little Bo Peep did it for the insurance money.
To the persons seated next to us on the plane -- I know you see us coming and think please not next to me please not next to me pleasenotnexttome. I don't want to be stuck hurtling through the atmosphere in a glorified Pringles can next to him for two hours either, and I'm his mom. But he's mostly a sweet kid. I promise. He likes dogs, balls, and anything technology (which he curiously refers to as "daddy"). I've brought books, a Magna-Doodle, stickers, a sippy cup of juice, his blankie, and some noisy apps on my smartphone. I anticipate this will keep him occupied for approximately 7 minutes. After that, I have no idea what to do. Please know that I am trying. His little brain isn't wired to spend more than 3 minutes on any one activity, and that's completely normal. His job right now is to discover the world around him, and there's a whole lot of world to pack into only 12 waking hours. For the next 150 minutes, you're part of that world. And so is your seat, your eye glasses, whatever you're reading, the drink cart, the flight attendant, the buttons for the light above you, and the window shade. It's all new to him, so please have a little patience.
To the flight attendants -- Help. Dear god please help me.
To the other travelers in my destination airport -- No, chances are I can't walk any slower while I'm awkwardly pushing a stroller with one hand and dragging a carry on behind me with the other while trying repeatedly to keep the diaper bag from slipping off my aching shoulder and wondering aloud why the g-d light rail is so f-ing far away. It's probably best to give us a wide berth until nap time. Thank you.
I'll see you on the other side. God help us all.
My hubs, on the other hand, is rarely rattled. He doesn't get nervous traveling, even that time he was almost arrested on a train in Germany. That's why my husband and I are good travel partners. He is in charge of getting me where I need to go with the least amount of anxiety possible, and I am in charge of making sure all of his underwear fits into his carry-on. It's win-win (especially for the other vacationers who don't have to see his Frank and Beans all week). However, our nice set-up is about to get blown to smithereens when I board a plane by myself with a toddler for the first time next week. We're going to need a lot of Xanax. And I'll probably take some too.
In advance of this experience, I'd like to write a few open letters:
 |
| Forcible backscattering. |
To the other travelers in my departing airport -- I have a running dialog with my toddler. I apologize in advance for the 47 times I will ask "Do you see the plane? Plane! See it? See the plane! It goes vrrroooooom! Yeah, that's a plane! It's a big plane, isn't it?" I realize this is annoying to everyone, because it's also annoying to me. But remember he's a tiny little knowledge sponge, and my explaining everything is expanding his brain and improving his vocabulary. Ignore us if you can, or maybe engage him in some polite conversation if you like. He has some intriguing theories on whether Little Bo Peep did it for the insurance money.
To the persons seated next to us on the plane -- I know you see us coming and think please not next to me please not next to me pleasenotnexttome. I don't want to be stuck hurtling through the atmosphere in a glorified Pringles can next to him for two hours either, and I'm his mom. But he's mostly a sweet kid. I promise. He likes dogs, balls, and anything technology (which he curiously refers to as "daddy"). I've brought books, a Magna-Doodle, stickers, a sippy cup of juice, his blankie, and some noisy apps on my smartphone. I anticipate this will keep him occupied for approximately 7 minutes. After that, I have no idea what to do. Please know that I am trying. His little brain isn't wired to spend more than 3 minutes on any one activity, and that's completely normal. His job right now is to discover the world around him, and there's a whole lot of world to pack into only 12 waking hours. For the next 150 minutes, you're part of that world. And so is your seat, your eye glasses, whatever you're reading, the drink cart, the flight attendant, the buttons for the light above you, and the window shade. It's all new to him, so please have a little patience.
To the flight attendants -- Help. Dear god please help me.
To the other travelers in my destination airport -- No, chances are I can't walk any slower while I'm awkwardly pushing a stroller with one hand and dragging a carry on behind me with the other while trying repeatedly to keep the diaper bag from slipping off my aching shoulder and wondering aloud why the g-d light rail is so f-ing far away. It's probably best to give us a wide berth until nap time. Thank you.
I'll see you on the other side. God help us all.
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