4 days till take-off and, perhaps, torture?
Photo: Sean MacEntee / Creative Commons
I don?t know if I should be terrified or defensive. (Excitement has not yet entered into the equation.) Some people say we?re insane; others think it?s great.?In four days? time, I?ll be boarding a claustrophobic airplane with a three-year-old, nine-month-old, stroller, baby food, diapers, and toys in tow, for an eight-hour trans-Atlantic flight, followed by a layover and another two-hour flight to our final destination. This will be followed by a three-week-long holiday around Croatia, Italy, and Sardinia, and ? of course ? another torturously long flight home.?I?m starting to think that maybe we were a little over-ambitious in our travel plans?
I?ve done a fair amount of flying over the years, and I?ve always been very solitary while doing so. I was that girl who finds her seat silently, minimizes conversation with her neighbour, and pops in headphones as soon as it?s not blatantly rude to do so. My carry-on luggage is always small, so it never requires a grand show of heaving and grunting to squeeze it into the overhead compartment. I eat meals quickly, fold up my tray, and sleep as quickly and long as possible. Sometimes I even skip airplane meals in favour of sleeping. I make one, maybe two, of those awkward, squeeze-by-the-knees trips to the WC. My travel documents are always in order and immediately available. I will never hold up a line (unless I?m smuggling cheese). I take metal objects out of my pockets, off comes the belt and shoes, laptop open. I move through the prolonged airport process fluidly and pride myself on it.
On Tuesday, however, I?m terrified ? bordering on sincere horror ? of becoming?that family of chaos-wracked parents and wild children that I?ve seen so often before. You know what I?m talking about: toddler running away, parent giving chase with suitcase in tow, baby crying, four adult arms trying to juggle a kid, a baby in a stroller, three huge suitcases, a purse, carry-on diaper bag, clutching stuffed animals, special blankets, extra sweaters thrown over their arms, perpetually fumbling for the passports that should have been there?
My pre-travel anxiety is causing me to wonder why I didn?t heed my own family?s horror stories of flying with babies. (Why do independent-spirited kids ignore their parents? tales of wisdom?!) My mom once lost a plastic breastmilk cup when it fell out of her nursing bra and rolled down the aisle. My dad flatly refused to go after it. On the same flight with my six-week-old sister, she squirted breastmilk all over the place while trying to get the baby latched. My aunt forgot to pack diapers for her new baby, and when she had a gigantic poo that ruined her whole outfit, my uncle gave up his shirt to wrap the baby in. He finished the flight in his undershirt, at least.?So what lesson have I learned from these tales of familial experience? Clearly nothing, if I?m attempting something even more ambitious ? two kids on a long-haul flight. At least we?re taking a babysitter, so there will be an extra set of hands, thank god.
I soothe my anxieties with thoughts of morning coffee on the cobbled streets of Zagreb, the taste of roast?porcheddu in Sardinia, and laying eyes on the Colosseum once again. We could be that family who never goes anywhere for fifteen years because we fear that long flight with small kids. Or we can keep travelling, broadening our own adult horizons, while packing lightly, having plenty of patience, and trying to maintain a sense of humour. If the whole trip is a disaster, at least we?ll have some great stories to tell, and some great meals under our belt.
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