On traveling with a child
I've observed a lot and learned a little.
We recently traveled to Tennessee. This trip included a car ride, bus ride, tram ride, plane flight, rental car rides up and down a mountain, and walking. Lots of walking.
When we first tried traveling with the boy, I thought he would slow us down. There’s a lot of equipment involved1 and just as many unknowns.
Will he sit still in the stroller? Will his ears pop on the flight? If he takes his shoes off, will we ever find them again? Will he cooperate with TSA? Will I cooperate with TSA? What if he decides to try intermittent fasting for the first time? What if he yells at a flight attendant? What if he decides to throw an outrageous tantrum to the extent that we have to discipline him in public and complete strangers see this and call child protective services who are then waiting for us on the tarmac to take custody as they insist that our explanation that “our parents spanked us and we turned out fine” isn’t good enough in modern society?2
You know. Normal stuff.
Now, we have a handful of trips under our belt. I don’t feel more or less wise in the ways of travel, but these are a few things I’ve observed…
Every location contains equal opportunity for joy and disaster, and the line between jumping off the terminal chairs and falling off them is thin.3
The boy has the appropriate amount of awe when it comes to air travel. I view airplanes as inconveniences with wings. He views them as modern miracles. In some ways, we are both right. In others, I am so wrong.
Stickers have an addictive quality that I can’t explain.
The boy views strollers the same way someone with a sprained ankle views crutches. They’re useful, arguably necessary, but ultimately a source of complaint and frustration, and they’re really hard to carry if you’re not the one using them.
Imagine the highest level of annoyance you’ve experienced at a child who cries on a plane. Multiple that by a hundred and you have a taste for the social shame felt by that child’s parents.
Not all car seats are created equally. This feels obvious to write, but it hit me in a new way when we discovered the two lumps at the base of the rented car seat were an intentional part of the design.4
The boy, and kids in general I think, are resilient. Skipping a nap isn’t the end of the world, no matter how much it feels like that in the moment.5
It’s important to have one good toy. Even if that toy is just a ping pong ball.
The boy doesn’t know how to articulate this yet, but he likes it when we take him places. He won’t remember this trip, but one day he will be glad that we included him in our life as we planned to live it instead of grinding everything to a halt so we could care for him in the safety of our home.
The boy has yet to find an outlet he doesn’t want to stick his finger in.6
Strangers are generally nicer than you expect them to be.
It’s strange to me that I enjoy traveling with the boy. I leave for a work trip in a few days, and I’ll miss the part where I have to chase him and force him to hold my hand in the parking lot.
How did this happen? How is that something I look at and love?
Thanks for reading this far.
-jd
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Question
Worst travel experience? Funniest? Best?
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At one point we owned three strollers and two car seats for our one child. I don’t know how to explain this, but it made sense to us once. Even now, in a way I cannot justify, it still makes some sense.
We haven’t spanked the boy. I don’t know why I feel the need to justify this but I do. I feel the judgment already. I have almost no opinion on the subject. I was spanked. I am fine. I haven’t spanked. I probably won’t. I still might. I’ve definitely wanted to.
Parenting is just recreating this scene every day until you die. If there’s one thing I’ve gotten better at since becoming a dad it’s saying the word “never” in Michael Caine’s accent.
The only explanation is that the seat was made by someone who had a vague notion of what a child was but had never seen or interacted with one.
The only thing I can think of that compares to the panic we feel when the boy skips his nap is the sensation of riding a rollercoaster against your will. Going up the first climb is fine, you talk yourself into having a good attitude, but that first drop is so anger-inducing that you could legitimately throw the friend who convinced you this was a good idea off the side with no regrets, and then halfway through the ride you realize it’s okay, and at the end you’re still mad at the friend but they bring you a corn dog without you even asking and everything is ultimately happy again.
We’ve discussed letting him get shocked. We haven’t, but…see above note on spanking. Same logic.