Family Traveller

"If you keep this up ma'am, I'll have to remove you from the airplane." The flight attendant stood her ground, but so did my wife. By assigning all three of us to separate middle seats, United Airlines had released Mama Bear. W wasn't about to be separated from her cubs, and, seething with adrenaline, the stand off was gruesome. Eighty-nine dollars and a few apologies later, my wife retreated to her den and we were humbly seated together for the six hour flight.

Nug has flown across the country at least ten times in her first two years. I never expected this, but between moving and family visits and work trips, we've ticked up the hours of airline travel. Of course, like the middle seat scene, there have been plenty of bumps along the way. I've been admonished for toddling my toddler- adorable as I know she is- into first class and scolded by a clearly childless and book-reading flight attendant for opening the "this curtain is shut for a reason" curtain. I've had to nurse Nug a millimeter from the arm of my young male seatmate (awkward!) and rode the airport escalator until Nug and I were dizzy while W sorted out a missed flight. Jet travel is no Gymboree, but you'd think it could be a little more family-friendly. Instead, I've dolled out dozens of apologies."Ohp!" I've apologized, stifling a giggle, "she pulled out your headphone cord- were you listening to something?" "I'm really sorry for all the kicking (though you did recline your seat into the danger zone...)." And most recently, "Ack! Are you okay? I'm sorry, she didn't mean to ram the stroller into your leg."

When the airplane lands, I am truly shocked to have made it intact. What?! I ask, waking my brain from the hours of protective amnesia, we haven't combusted into pieces of crayon/orange juice/poop/Skymall/petrified food crumbs? Somehow we mustered the patience and energy to survive another journey. Of course, we couldn't do it without the kindness of strangers here and there, so here's a shout out to the family-friendly travelers out there. First, the men ushering you and your giant poopie diaper past the lavatory line, thereby sparing the entire back third of the plane from smelling the inside of your toddler's digestive tract. Second, the women who stand in the aisle for an hour so you can use the row to put your kid to sleep. Third, the row of friendly faces behind you for playing peek-a-boo and retrieving dropped pacifiers ad nauseum. And finally, every single child and friendly-faced grandma on the plane who is willing to engage my child and help me kill five minutes. Yes, five minutes at a time is how to survive airplane travel with a toddler. And five minutes multiplied by seventy-two gets you across the country intact.