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Air Travel with Toddlers
by Jennifer Wightman
January 01, 2010 - I wouldn’t consider my husband, Jaimie, and me your average couple. We’re still a bit idealistic about our thirteen-year-old marriage. We’re great communicators, and we respect each other when our opinions clash. We don’t fight, we discuss. Admittedly, I was naive when we first met at twenty-three and twenty-five years, respectfully. He had hung the moon. I was starry eyed and thought he knew everything (in hind sight that is probably the funniest sentence in this article, but I digress).
We decided long ago to ignore the Nay Sayers who predicted our giddy courtship would sour after our wedding vows were professed. We disregarded the dire warnings of how building a house together could land us in divorce court. And we especially denied the challenges of raising children. We knew we’d be excellent parents.
Let me be clear. Our life together hasn’t been all wine and roses. In fact we’ve weathered our share of adversities. We watched our home burn down, struggled through eight years of infertility and grieved the loss of close family members with loving support all the way.
When we completed the adoption process and brought home one-day-old Baby Kate, we were slightly overwhelmed but certainly up to the task. Even as Kate turned one month old and we discovered I’d miraculously become pregnant (knowing our children’s age difference would barely reach ten months), our confidence was again only slightly shaken. We encouraged each other. We could do this, and our dream of raising children was finally coming true! We were special, fully committed, grateful and ready for our miracles.
However, nothing, nothing, nothing could have prepared us for our transatlantic flight with two children under the age of two. Jaimie is British, and his extended family lives in Scotland and England. So, there was no question that we’d head over seas and show off our beautiful growing family. Jaimie and I had made this flight together many times. He considered us pros, and, as long as we were prepared, we’d manage just fine. My confidence, unfortunately, had weakened. Pregnancy and its postpartum counter part had thrown me into a harsh reality, one that lingered with a darker outlook making my previous sunny disposition quite depressed. I forged ahead though. Who was I to deny proud Daddy this trip? Who was I to keep Auntie Margaret from cuddling our sweet babes? It was time to take the wee lasses to the Wightman homeland? The whole clan awaited. So, I kept my fears to myself (OK, OK, I vented to my family, my girlfriends, anyone off the street who would listen, but not to Jaimie). I maintained a fake stoic optimism to my husband as we made our travel arrangements.
Things do look better on paper. We had a plan. We’d fly from Wilmington to Atlanta, then to Edinburgh. The nearly eight-hour flight left at 7PM, and our girls are great sleepers. We decided to only purchase three seats for the plane rides. Emma, our youngest, could sleep in our laps. Jaimie’s parents would already be in Scotland when we arrived. Two pack-n-plays were borrowed, as well as highchairs and even seats for the bath. A washing machine was available, so we wouldn’t have to pack a lot of clothes. And a rental car, equipped with two car seats, was reserved at our final destination. We only needed to strap the girls in their umbrella strollers and cruise through the airports. So, really, what was there to be too terribly concerned about? These were Jaimie’s gentle words of encouragement that I nodded along with. I even became slightly sucked in to his reasonable ideas.
We…sorry, I…did gather as much advice as I could from other moms and seasoned travelers:
*A bottle or pacifier was essential for landing and take off to protect those little ears.
*Bring two of their favorite toys. Don’t overdue it. They’ll be so fascinated with all the new activities going on that they won’t need much to be entertained.
*Let the flight attendants help you.
*Drug your children. Well, that’s not exactly how the advice was given but that’s how I heard it. The new mother in me couldn’t imagine giving my innocent babies unneeded cough syrup in order to make them sleep. I was appalled. However, with the trip growing nearer, as well as my apprehension, I found myself rethinking this idea, especially since it was offered more than once. So I called the doctor’s office, and the nurse assured me that it was just fine. I managed to let go of my guilt, and I threw some Benedryl in my carry on bag.
*One of the best ideas was a bag of earplugs to offer the other passengers just in case. This would break the ice, as they would not make eye contact with us initially I was told. Plus it would show them we were doing the best we could.
I casually ran these suggestions by Jaimie, and he, half listening, said, “Sure, sounds good.”
So off we went, ready or not! The first flight was enjoyable. Kate (20 months) loved looking out the window, and Emma (11 months) was content in Daddy’s arms. The flight was short, and the passengers even complimented us on our “sweet girls.” Perhaps my fears were unfounded. This could be a piece of cake.
We fed them in the Atlanta airport, brushed teeth, changed diapers – the whole bedtime routine – then, just as our plane was beginning to board, I dosed each of them with Benedryl. “Nightie, night my little angels.”
Having small children allowed us the privilege of early boarding. However, we were in THE LAST row. No worries, our seats still leaned back (a little), and the bathroom was conveniently close. I’ll admit, I was getting tired, and even Emma was getting heavy. So when a TOTAL STRANGER offered to hold her with the ever so original, “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” remark, I actually handed over my precious infant to him. Moving too quickly for guilt to set in, I stuffed my “lightly” packed yet bulging carry on bag under the seat in front of me. I was shocked at my behavior, yet grateful at the same time. I needed the help! Jaimie was struggling with Kate. And where was this guy going to go on a packed plane? Yes, I said “this guy.” Stop judging me! My nerves were beginning to fray, and NO ONE ever offers to help me in public, especially MEN! I don’t know what it is. How much must one person struggle before another human being steps in? I don’t glare at them; I don’t think I do anyway. Regardless, he offered, I welcomed the help, and we all buckled up.
Then time stopped. The plane seemed to be glued to the runway. The aisles narrowed. The passengers – none of who cared for the earplugs – even began to sway ever so slightly. I fought back the panic. It was much too early to fall apart. I had seven plus hours ahead of me! I pulled myself together and cuddled my squirmy Emma as Kate played with the headphones in the seat between Jaimie and me.
An hour later the flight attendant came on the loud speaker with some excuse as to why we still hadn’t taken off. Then they offered a free flight to anyone willing to give up their seat as this flight was overbooked. Surprisingly, the nice gentleman, right in front of us who had held Emma for me was the first to volunteer. He must not have had a pressing itinerary.
Finally, finally, finally, they turned off the lights, the girls almost instantly fell asleep, we taxied down the runway, and took off! Ah, the thrills of air travel. It still gets me. By now, it was approaching 9 PM, so the flight attendants immediately began the in flight dinner service. Much to my chagrin, they turned on the lights. It was like full daylight and then some at thirty thousand feet. Whelp, that did it for our sleeping cherubs. They seemed convinced that this was a good party or they had awakened to a new day. Sleepy eyes became wide (and red) as they each grinned and looked around, concerned at what they might have missed. Thanks to our solid relationship, Jaimie and I smoothly maneuvered eating our meals while passing Emma between us. Yes, Kate wanted to get out of her seat, but we successfully distracted her with food.
This “smooth” meal became more hectic as the turbulence set in, and Kate struggled fiercely to escape our cocoon with her dinner roll safely clenched in her tiny hand. I could feel the panic growing. I tried to keep it at bay as the soda I’d had one sip of spilled onto my lap. I was fast though. The drink made no contact with my fresh, dry, yet fussing Emma. Unfortunately, her condition deteriorated as a full-blown spit up that covered the two of us interrupted her whining.
As Jaimie wrestled with Kate, I instinctively grabbed for a flight attendant. The third or fourth one who did not escape my pawing hands asked if there was something we needed. Wordlessly, I gave her Emma as she maintained that Barbie Doll smile. Emma could charm the Grinch with her goofy grin, so she humored Mrs. Stepford while I went to work. I quickly adjusted my Coke-covered jeans, removed the food tray that had wedged between our seats and straightened out my puke stained blouse. The fully melted flight attendant then sweetly placed my daughter onto my soggy lap as I handed her a soaked blanket to wring out.
Jaimie took Kate for a walk up and down the aisle as I rocked Emma. I could have smacked the cute little blond college boy sitting across the aisle who continually cooed and made googlie eyes at Emma. Complete distraction! Emma is literally entertained by a broken ceiling fan! The last thing she needed was true entertainment! I should have smacked him. Even if I’d just whispered, “Look blondie. Cut the kiddy crap and get back to your filthy rap music. I’m trying to get my baby to sleep over here!” I wouldn’t have been totally out of control. I chose the passive aggressive route, however, and covered her head with her blanket while shifting my body in those oh so roomy coach seats. All to no avail, the two managed to find each other again and the giggling commenced. I, thoroughly beaten, continued to rock if only to calm myself.
Jaimie returned as I was trying to decide who to medicate first…. the girls or ME? With his help, I managed both. Only an abusive mother would overmedicate her fussy babies with further doses of Benedryl, so I pulled out the Baby Tylenol instead. Those two sweetie pies lapped it up. My panic slightly shifted to hope as Kate lowered her head onto her seat and curled up her legs (aahh to be twenty-six inches tall on an overseas flight, on any flight!). Unfortunately, her comfy position was short lived. Neither of the girls seemed to experience any affect from the medicine. Nor did I. Since when does Xanax NOT work on an airplane?!? And Baby Tylenol takes ‘em down like a charm when they’re actually sick. But these two healthy warriors refused to give up the battle against sleep.
The night wore on. At one point Jaimie, was walking around with Emma and I managed to lie down next to Kate (most of me was on the floor). It was the cuddle maneuver to keep her still. Out of nowhere comes this annoyingly attractive and friendly woman dressed all in black who proceeds to address us. Kate was chatting a bit, but, if THIS position didn’t look like I was trying to get my child to sleep nothing would! Was I on the moron plane or what?? OK, so this woman says to me, “I have five children. I can rock her to sleep.” Only a mother would understand my reaction. My blood boiled. I was shockingly so annoyed that I was briefly speechless. I did not question my instincts. These loyal comrades told me to respond in a severe tone with, “I don’t care if you’re the Baby Whisperer! Get the hell away from us. I can calm down my own child better than anyone on the planet! I’m her mother! AND I didn’t even ASK for your help, Miss Nanny 911!” I was the lioness whose cub was being surrounded by cheetahs. However, what I did say, was, “No thank you, I don’t want her to get up. We’re just fine.”
Later, I could hear Jaimie exchanging pleasantries with this witch back by the bathrooms. She even held Emma, who DID NOT SLEEP in her experienced arms, by the way. When Jaimie returned I couldn’t wait to tell him. Oh the nerve of that woman! She wasn’t even sitting anywhere near us from what I could tell. Talk about nosey! Jaimie listened but seemed a bit taken aback by my primal reaction. Men. He then proceeded to say, “Jen, that lady is a flight attendant from first class. She came back here to give us a hand, a break.” Again I was speechless, yet mortified as well. She had no wings pinned to her blouse, no nametag, no identifying marks! How was I supposed to know? Instincts without proper rest or fresh air can sometimes mislead us. Good thing I was only slightly rude and didn’t attack her. We didn’t see her or her pocket photos of all five of her well-rested children the remainder of the flight.
Speaking of the remainder of the flight, a surge of hope rose up within me as I checked the time and realized only two hours remained until landing. This was glorious! We were almost there! This hellish nightmare was nearly behind us. Emma and I leaned over to Jaimie, rocking Kate on his knee as his bloodshot eyes squinted in my direction.
“Honey,” I said sweetly, “only two hours left.” In a voice unfamiliar to me he snapped, “Try four! It’s four more hours, Jen! What are you talking about?” I’d never been good at math, but this miscalculation nearly devastated me. “I want to go home!” I blurted out as we hovered somewhere over the Atlantic. Again I was shocked by Jaimie’s angry reaction. I must digress here. Jaimie is Cool Hand Luke, Mr. Mellow-Yellow. Nothing is a big deal to this man. In fact, only about thirty minutes (or maybe three hours) earlier he’d said to me in his “freakishly optimistic” way, “We may have expected too much from these two. This is harder than I thought it would be.” Again, I froze, unable to speak. I wanted to say, “OF COURSE THIS IS HARD! THIS IS HELL AND I KNEW IT WOULD BE! HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY BE SURPRISED BY THIS NIGHTMARE?!?!” However, I simply chose to cry my eyes out and click my heels like Dorothy.
I sincerely hope you have found a nugget or two of knowledge that will benefit you should any of your future air travel include toddlers. We learned a lot. The next time we take the children to Britain we have three plans to choose from:
A. They will be eight & nine years old, fully equipped with headphones, portable DVD players, Game Boys, or whatever the hell it is out there that I’ve sworn my kids will never become addicted to.
B. We’ll fly on a private jet, preferably the one we dream of owning by then.
C. We’ll take a slow boat.
If none of the above is feasible for you, keep a sense of humor, try to stay calm and book your vacation for at least two weeks. It will take you that long to recover, plus you deserve it!
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