Although traveling with a toddler carries many challenges.
First there is the luggage issues. Seriously, who knew the smallest person required the most stuff? If it were just J and me, I think we'd have one suitcase. Take along K, and we have three. Plus a crammed diaper bag. Plus a crammed mini-cooler for drinks and food. Plus a humongous car seat.
Thank goodness for Southwest. I'm convinced the 5 executives at Southwest have a combined total of about 80 children who realize that even on their salaries they cannot afford excess baggage fees. That's why they vote every year to make sure Bags Fly Free (disclaimer: I have no knowledge of the number of executives of Southwest, their families, how often they vote or how much money they make, but I am certain that excess baggage fees are...well in excess...and Southwest is awesome for realizing that when people travel, they travel with stuff).
Second, no one caters to Moms in an airport. Going through security with a child may as well be an Olympic sport. Or a suicide attempt. Take your pick. The person in front of you will undoubtedly be the slowest human being on the face of the planet, making the Tortoise look like he's gunning it in a ferrari. Meanwhile, you are juggling your crammed diaper bag, crammed mini-cooler, and a squirmy toddler while trying to gather the correct number of bins to place your 10,000 items in before sending them through the scanner. As if wipes, diapers and crayons are the materials one would use to take down a plane. "Excuse me Captain. You better hand over control of the plane or I will color all over your face. Don't test me. I have mad coloring skills."
However, Tortoise, moving in slow motion in front of you, is still trying to figure out whether he needs to place his shoes in separate bins, blocking any ability to grab the 18 bins you need for the mini-house you are carrying with you to send through the scanner.
On top of that, Mr. WallStreet-With-No-Family-Or-Any-Idea-Of-What-It-Mean-To-Be-Polite is behind you practically shoving his way to the bins because heaven forbid he misses his plane and has to join the commoners in coach on the next flight.
But...all of us Moms manage to make it through security. Our hair is standing straight up, our shoes are on the wrong feet, and we are leaving behind a trail of miscellaneous socks/Cheerios/toy cars/one or two articles of clothing as we pass through security, hoping our sanity will make its way to the other side before our plane departs.
And then...we board. And because our kids fly in our laps for free until they are two years old, and no one wants to pay for a seat the child is not likely to sit in for more than 10 minutes of the entire flight, we cram the smallest child, with the most luggage on the entire airplane, into a seat with Mom, who lost her sanity at check in, half her clothing at security, and any ability to think for two seconds about needing something for herself to eat on a flight that provides nothing but a mini glass of water and two peanuts over the course of 1300 miles, and we expect Mom to entertain the entire ride.
I have no idea how generations of Moms before us survived.
Second, no one caters to Moms in an airport. Going through security with a child may as well be an Olympic sport. Or a suicide attempt. Take your pick. The person in front of you will undoubtedly be the slowest human being on the face of the planet, making the Tortoise look like he's gunning it in a ferrari. Meanwhile, you are juggling your crammed diaper bag, crammed mini-cooler, and a squirmy toddler while trying to gather the correct number of bins to place your 10,000 items in before sending them through the scanner. As if wipes, diapers and crayons are the materials one would use to take down a plane. "Excuse me Captain. You better hand over control of the plane or I will color all over your face. Don't test me. I have mad coloring skills."
However, Tortoise, moving in slow motion in front of you, is still trying to figure out whether he needs to place his shoes in separate bins, blocking any ability to grab the 18 bins you need for the mini-house you are carrying with you to send through the scanner.
On top of that, Mr. WallStreet-With-No-Family-Or-Any-Idea-Of-What-It-Mean-To-Be-Polite is behind you practically shoving his way to the bins because heaven forbid he misses his plane and has to join the commoners in coach on the next flight.
But...all of us Moms manage to make it through security. Our hair is standing straight up, our shoes are on the wrong feet, and we are leaving behind a trail of miscellaneous socks/Cheerios/toy cars/one or two articles of clothing as we pass through security, hoping our sanity will make its way to the other side before our plane departs.
And then...we board. And because our kids fly in our laps for free until they are two years old, and no one wants to pay for a seat the child is not likely to sit in for more than 10 minutes of the entire flight, we cram the smallest child, with the most luggage on the entire airplane, into a seat with Mom, who lost her sanity at check in, half her clothing at security, and any ability to think for two seconds about needing something for herself to eat on a flight that provides nothing but a mini glass of water and two peanuts over the course of 1300 miles, and we expect Mom to entertain the entire ride.
(disclaimer #2: AAP recommends no tv until age 2. Sorry, but even Southwest had to cut out SuperNanny from their flights)
I have no idea how generations of Moms before us survived.
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