There’s no place like home

Well. We’re back. Actually, we got back on Sunday night, but it’s taken me this long to mentally recover from traveling with the TODDLER FROM HELL. Sweet fancy Moses, but the Hatchling was determined to drive her parents right out of their minds during the plane’d portions of the trip. The last time we flew with her, you may remember, was one giant pukefest, so this time we dosed her up good-fashion with Dramamine. Dramamine, of course, is legendary for having the side effect of knocking most people the hell out when they take it. I can remember my younger sister spending numerous train rides blissfully dead to the world when we were little, all through the miracle of Dramamine. As far as Mr. Squab and I were concerned, that was a major bonus. No puking AND sleeping through the flight? Sign us up! Fools that we were, we actually believed that the Hatchling’s indomitable will to stay conscious throughout any given mode of vehicular transport could be tamed by a mere over-the-counter pill. Ha! It is to laugh. I suppose it could have been worse. I mean, the pills could’ve made her hyperactive, which I guess they do in some kids. Or they could have not stopped the puking. I would have tried to be grateful that at least we didn’t suffer that fate, only my gratitudometer was severely impaired by the psychic bullets of hatred being shot at me by my fellow passengers as I wrestled a screaming, thrashing, kicking toddler for 3/4 of the flight home. See, now that she can walk, there is no sitting still unless she’s eating, watching YouTube videos, or asleep in her crib. I mean, duh. We didn’t have videos on the plane; sleep was a no-go, and there’s only so much you can feed a kid on a two-hour flight. Thus, tantrum. QED.

It’s a shame, because aside from the flights it was really a good trip. The Hatchling is a complete beach-bunny and couldn’t wait to get in the water and dig in the sand every day. We got to see loads of relatives we love, we had an all-out bash to celebrate my mom’s 60th birthday, and the Hatchling couldn’t have been more charming throughout. Her former shyness has all but disappeared: she makes friends with EVERYONE now, flashing chubby grins with flirtatious abandon at all and sundry. She slept like a champion in various locations, allowing her Mamala to enjoy several longish periods of lying out on the beach, devouring the latest Harry Potter novel (review forthcoming). It was all good, yo, except for the part about getting there and getting home. (Did I mention that our flight out was delayed 3 1/2 hours, meaning that the Hatchling was up for twelve straight hours and didn’t get to bed until midnight? Yeah. That was one of the less fun experiences I’ve had as a parent.)

So unless anyone out there has any failsafe tips for knocking out a toddler on a flight without involving child protection services, we will not be flying anywhere in the foreseeable future. I am NOT going through that shit again. (But, uh, happy birthday, Mom! It was fun being out there!)

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