I Thought Getting There Was Half the Fun

The years I spent abroad epitomize the "getting there is half the fun" type of travel I once did. I was the budget traveler who could leave when I wanted to, travel on a whim and spend days on a train if it meant I could reach far-flung locations like Stockholm and Spain (24- and 48-hour trips, respectively, with numerous layovers and middle-of-the-night border crossings). Lugging my skis, I boarded trains bound for the Alps of Switzerland and Austria, I decided last-minute to spend 12 hours round-trip traveling to and from Warsaw for a weekend visit with friends and was excited when I found out there was a 2:00 a.m. train out of Freiburg, Germany that would get me to Basel, Switzerland in time for the 4:00 a.m. start of Fasnacht (Carnival). I considered wherever the train went to be a doable trip, no matter when I arrived or how tired and disheveled I was upon finally arriving.

Now that I travel with a kid, I can't get to my destination quick enough. I've written a lot about traveling (particularly flying) with young children and how doable it is, but I'll be honest that the actual traveling part of a vacation isn't what I would describe as "fun". While I've never had a major mishap flying with Oliver, (he's never actually screamed the whole time during a flight) the fate of every trip does feel very much out of my hands, no matter what preparations we make. We try to time car trips or flights as best we can around his schedule and we've avoided layovers as much as possible. In fact, we haven't even taken a trip that lasted more than three and a half hours.

Our vacation to New Mexico at the end of March marked a new level in our "traveling with kids" phase when we realized that Oliver isn't as portable as he used to be and that flying with young children, as rewarding as the overall vacation is, does have challenges. I can love traveling and still be in a phase where I wish I could say, "Beam me up Scotty." So here's the honest look at flying with an 18-month-old.

When we realized it would cost of half as much to fly to Albuquerque if we used miles we had accrued on American Airlines, we abandoned my rule of never booking a flight with a layover if an opportunity existed to fly direct. (Delta flies direct to Albuquerque, but American sends you via Dallas.) And even though we debate every time we fly whether to buy Oliver his own seat, we ignored our memories of our last flight with Oliver when he was 15 months old (and had told ourselves then that that trip would be his last time flying on our laps) and decided we could do just one more "infant in lap" flight if it meant Oliver was flying for free.

Minneapolis to Dallas:
If we had tried to pretend that Oliver had gotten smaller and more manageable since our last trip three months ago, we were reminded during the first leg of our trip, from Minneapolis to Dallas, of all the reasons why flying with a toddler is not easy.

Airplanes are notorious for their uneven climate control - you're either baking while waiting for the plane to taxi, or the air blasting on your head from above is annoying and only manages to cool your scalp and nothing else- and having another human being sitting on your lap is nauseatingly hot, so you both arrive at your destination a hot, sweaty mess. (Okay, being pregnant doesn't help with the climate control either.) Oliver isn't content to sit on our laps anymore either and wants to be moving around, which isn't possible during many parts of the flight. Napping is now a logistical challenge, as Oliver is so much taller and takes up one and a half seats when lying down. We had the middle and window seats of a three-seat row and despite trying to pad our laps and such with blankets and jackets, Oliver could not get comfortable enough to sleep. Like he does in his crib, he wanted to move around to find a comfortable position. (Thankfully our row-mate had an 18-month-old grandchild of his own and genuinely didn't seem to mind that he got kicked a few times while I tried to get Oliver to lie in my lap to take a nap.) The inability to nap or get out of our laps when he wanted to led to tantrums, which involve throwing his head back, and unfortunately mouth is in line with the top of his scull. I felt fortunate to have arrived in Dallas without a split lip.

Dallas to Albuquerque:
However, even as I document all the reasons why we need to suck it up and buy Oliver a ticket next time, the Dallas to Albuquerque leg, where we got an entire three-seat row to ourselves and were able to bring Oliver's car seat onboard, wasn't stress-free either. Putting Oliver in his car seat in the car is one of the few transitions Oliver doesn't seem to mind and he's always been relatively content there. Until he was on an airplane. He did not want to sit in his seat and he cried so hard while we sat delayed at the gate, that I became desperate to do anything to quiet him, including letting him sit in my lap, exactly what I had thought we would avoid. I looked over bitterly at the empty car seat and imagined if we had spent hundreds of dollars for that seat. While Oliver knows that the only way to travel in a car is in a car seat, I wondered if he'd associated flying with sitting in mom or dad's lap. By the time we'd reached cruising altitude, I was already uncomfortably hot with Oliver on my lap and he no longer wanted to sit still. After one head-fling back in a fit of defiance by Oliver, I decided it was better now than never to try to teach him that he sits in his own seat when flying. I had a stern word with him about this being what was expected of him, which probably sounded more fitting for a ten-year-old than an 18-month-old, but it worked! He quieted down! He didn't sit there the whole flight, but having my personal space back made the flight much more enjoyable.

Albuquerque to Dallas:
Our flight home from Albuquerque had an equal number of successes and challenges. The Albuquerque to Dallas leg was short enough (about an hour) and timed perfectly with Oliver's schedule that his pre-nap good mood easily lasted the flight. We had a two-seat row to ourselves and Chris and I passed Oliver back and forth between our laps, and with the arm rest up, Oliver could sit cozily between us in the row. The flight went so smoothly that I actually began to question what was so difficult about flying with a toddler.

But we had only made it as far as Dallas and I knew our luck was about to run out. As we prepared to land right around Oliver's typical nap time, Chris and I examined our less-than-ideal strategies for getting in Oliver's nap for the day. Ideally he would nap during the two-hour layover, but we'd have to walk with the stroller the whole time for him to even have a chance at sleeping, and even then he wouldn't be able to sleep for the two and a half hours he needs to be rested/in a good mood. And if could fall asleep, despite the overstimulation of the airport, it would take him awhile to do so and then he'd just wake up when we started the boarding process. He would more likely sleep in our arms during the second flight, but the chances of him making it that long without a meltdown were also slim. Sigh...we were pretty much screwed.

Dallas to Minneapolis:
We did try to get him to nap during the layover, but unsurprisingly, with no success. We even tried to give him Benadryl, a tactic that had been so successful when I flew by myself with him at Christmas, but he refused it. By the time we boarded the plane, he was clearly exhausted and we started to repeat our experience of the Minneapolis to Dallas leg from a week before. We tried again with the Benadryl, which he took, but then our plane got delayed over 30 minutes at the gate, and with the aircraft in the park position and the cabin lights on, Oliver just could not sleep no matter how much he desperately wanted (needed) to and he expressed his frustration with punctuated screams and flailing limbs. Shortly after take-off, the effect of the vibrations and noise of the jet engines combined with the Benadryl were finally enough lull him to sleep. Chris and I were so relieved even if Oliver only napped for 45 minutes. He wasn't in a stellar mood when he awoke, but the shut-eye was enough to make him appear like a happy, well-adjusted kid. It took two adults to keep him entertained with empty beverage service cups and the emergency procedure cards in the seat-back pocket, but we were more relaxed knowing that we were getting close to Minneapolis.

Despite the tense moments we had during portions of our travel, my faith in my fellow passengers was continuously buoyed. In all the trips I've taken, not once have I had a situation where a passenger has even shot me a dirty look. After the blizzard in the Northeast last December, Oliver and I had to be redirected on a flight via Memphis and were put in first class as the airlines desperately tried to transport passengers who had been delayed for days. Our second flight was hours past his bedtime and he cried hard for an hour as I tried to get him to sleep. I felt bad for the passengers around me who had actually paid to travel first class, only to sit next to a screaming baby. Yet as we taxied towards the gate, finally in Philadelphia, an older man next to me turned to me and said, "Wow, none of my four kids ever traveled that well."

Then the flight attendants helped me carry my bags so I could safely step down the steep set of stairs of the commuter jet onto the jetway with Oliver strapped to my back and one of the pilots jumped out of the cockpit and followed me down and fetched Oliver's car seat, which had been gate-checked and left for me at the bottom of the stairs.

Even if the majority of travelers aren't traveling with young children, most of them have or have had young children in their lives. When people smile at your child, ask questions and even comment, "What a good traveler!" you know they remember what it's like.

And somehow, Oliver always arrived with a smile on his face and I was left thinking, "That wasn't so bad."

Maybe it was kind of fun.