If you’re a new mom who’s looking for words of wisdom that will ensure a smooth flight before you take off, you may be in the wrong place.
RELATED READING: Tips for Traveling with Kids
I would recommend some tips, but it would also get your hopes up for the nearly impossible. In my experience, what works for one kiddo rarely works for another, and what works once will never work again. So while I don’t think tips are worthwhile, perhaps I can help you pivot your perspective and share a couple of relatable stories along the way.
The way I see it, the only positive thing about traveling with babies is that you’re not scared the plane will go down. When you’re flying sans spawn, you have time to assess your surroundings…
What was that weird sound? What is dripping on me? What do you mean by rough air? Don’t you mean TURBULENCE?! Will a seatbelt really help?! But really… though?
When flying with babies or young toddlers, these paranoid thoughts will be overtaken by hours of shrieking, pulling, kicking, stares of disdain, and/or the empathetic nods from graduated mothers who know what you’re experiencing all too well. Conversely if you’re flying solo, you can enjoy a glass of wine or three and travel without peanut butter fingers yanking your hair for hours on end. Maybe a little paranoia isn’t so bad?
And God forbid you sit in first class with kids. I’ve sat in first class exactly one time, and it was with my husband and our firstborn when she was about 8 months old. This was an unfortunate flight. At least when you’re in coach, people expect torture and tantrums, but it turns out that is not exactly the case in front of the curtains. What is the case: free drinks. As I explained to my husband, it would be monetarily irresponsible of me not to take advantage of the blessed situation we fell into. “Yes, I’ll take a chardonnay.”
Cue takeoff: baby crying, mommy spilling, daddy seething, and an old, cranky man approaching. “Have you tried feeding her a bottle?!” Woah, thank you for the sound advice, I hadn’t thought of that! I also hadn’t thought about walking her up and down the aisle for the last twenty minutes, or setting up a play area at our feet, or forcing Coco Melon in her face. Nothing like an old man who is sure he knows best.
One time, my husband flew across the country with our four- and one-year-old. All. By. Himself. A challenge I would never accept. He embraced “what’s the worst that could happen?” The deal was if he delivered the girls to my parents in Oregon, he could enjoy a few days to himself nearby. My husband is a lone wolf, so this trade was enticing. All he had to do was get them across the country and then he could hole up and watch all the nerdy shit his heart could handle. Where was I, you ask? I had an important bachelorette party in Mexico City. Mama had some tequila to attend to. I dropped the girls and Eric at the airport and hours later I received a text right as their flight was taking off. “I forgot she likes warm milk!!!” And then crickets, because they were airborne. I thought to myself as I enjoyed my luxurious solo evening, “hmm this sounds like a not-me problem” as I resumed the SLOMW reunion show. (God, that show is good.)
When traveling with kids, it is hard not to laugh at the monstrosity it is. You have to. If you don’t, you’ll cry. I’ve done both. One of my favorite airport stories is not my own, but I think of it often and fondly. My friend is the opposite of me, brave and unbothered. She told me about the time when she was flying with her rambunctious two year old. Oh and did I mention she was 20 weeks pregnant? She has never batted an eye at traveling alone with her kids, a national treasure, truly. So my friend is in the bathroom peeing for probably the 10th time that hour, her daughter squished in with all of the luggage beside her, and then this little spitfire crawls out of the stall and takes off running down the terminal. My friend shakes dry, abandons her luggage and barrels after her, only to find her rascal sprinting past startled, confused, and concerned travels on the moving walkway. I’m not sure how it ended, all I know is they lived to tell the tale. Remember this next time you’re struggling. I do and it makes me smile.
One more thing while you’re here. For the love of God, can we please ditch those apology goodie bags for surrounding passengers? Of course, it’s a nice gesture. I love a goodie bag, who doesn’t?! But calling all moms, let’s please, please not place yet another demand on ourselves. Aren’t we already doing enough? I literally have spit up in my hair and shit on my jeans; so no, you’re not getting gummy bears, Janet! My baby will cry, your eardrums will be inconvenienced, my husband will break out into hives and threaten to jump out the emergency exit, again, and I will grin and bear it. And guess what Frank, you get to catch up on Pawn Stars from your recliner when we land. I’ve got diapers to change, babies to bathe, and I have to figure out what the f*ck is for dinner!
So my best advice for flying with young children is: buckle up baby, because it’s about to be a bumpy ride. And that’s okay. As long as your spouse doesn’t jump.
