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The first time we flew across the country with our then 3-year old, we thought we were ready.
The flight was only supposed to be a few hours long- how bad could it be? We made sure our son slept well the night before, we ran him ragged before the flight, we packed some of his favorite toys and snacks, and we boarded the flight with a smile. We were sure we were ready.
I was sure I was ready.
Flying with young children is not for the faint of heart.
Oh sure, if you happen to time everything correctly and all the planets are aligned, then you (and all the passengers on board flight 247) will be excited to spend a few hours locked in a pressure controlled environment with your cute tot.
But I am not that lucky.
Apparently, my 3-year old could make grown men cry. To say he was energetic is like trying to describe high voltage electricity with words like “slightly shocking”. The kid was like the Tasmanian devil personified.
The funny thing is that, until then, I thought I was a great mom.
- I thought I had this parenting thing all under control.
- I thought I could handle him in public. He is my son, right?
And then I took him onto a plane.