In theory, airplanes are awesome. In practice, airplanes are baby jail.
We just got off a six hour red-eye from Newark to London and I have to admit: it was terrible.
I wanted to report that it went surprisingly smooth but who am I kidding – it was torture. The boys couldn’t get comfortable. When both kids and my partner finally fell asleep, I sat up awake, crying in the dark, anticipating the rest of the trip.
Travel is tough for kids. They don’t want to sit still for more than a few minutes, much less for several hours. And if you make them, that’s ok – they’ll just scream. They’ll scream until you think they’re going to pop a blood vessel – and then they’ll scream more. All the non-screaming passengers nearby wish you weren’t their neighbor and you become aware of their feelings by their glances and glares. All this before you’ve even gotten there.
Kids like routines. Moms like routines! Everyone likes knowing where all their stuff is and that nap comes after lunch. Travel offers an opportunity to throw the whole system up in the air and test the flexibility of the babies and their caretakers.
Babies and their caretakers are not very flexible.
If I learned anything during this journey it’s that I can do anything for a limited time while I have no other choice. And that family, extended family who live in London, England, are important enough to endure the punishment of irate children because there’s nothing more valuable than cultivating relationships between children and their grandparents.