Humor
Five Stages of Grief While Traveling With My Young Child
You Got This?
Denial
My child has been such a joy for at least three hours this month. He must be ready for a family vacation!
I save vacation days, credit card points and actual money that I definitely won’t need for something else.
My partner is wrong: our child’s developmentally beyond spinning around like a drunk ninja in the airport security line.
Anger
On the plane, he spills his “spill-proof” water bottle on my off-brand travel pants. I clean the mess with wipes, but now my crotch is both wet and soapy. I try not to claw my pants, which is easy, since I barely have room move my arms.
I stare at the bald head in front of me; my partner and child take the armrests. I take deep breaths that come out quickly like I learned in birthing class.
I try to reach for my purse and bump my head. The bald man turns to glare at me. At least I don’t give him the finger. Or rather, at least he doesn’t see me do it and neither does my kid.
I consider bumping my head again both to piss off the bald guy and to have an excuse — concussions can’t be that bad, right? — to get off this f-ing airplane.
Bargaining
In the middle of the tour in front of a statue of the famous, old, dead white guy on a horse, my child starts to cry. “You’ve never been as thirsty as I am, Mommy. I MIGHT DIE!” How could I have forgotten the water bottle? I wish to any god who will listen for a water bottle to appear in the giant backpack filled mostly with the rocks he’s collected. I would return the rocks to Mother Earth for a plastic water bottle.
I tell him that if he can stop whining, kicking and screaming, I will buy him any toy he wants.
When he asks me to carry his fifty-pound self, I promise a second toy. He offers a compromise, “Three new toys?”
In the end, I’ve promised him all of Amazon. I might not have any money left, but my child is quiet. I trust the saying, “Silence is money.”
Depression
I have a headache and did not pack any medicine for adults. Is it a concussion after all? Will it kill me?
I also did not pack enough underwear for myself. I wash a pair in the sink with shampoo and they are crunchy the next day.
I feel bloated from the fast food we’ve been eating since our kid won’t eat anything else. “Fed is best” is still true for elementary school-aged kids, right?
I miss my bathroom at home, my most private and magical place, since I’m the only one who has the “missing” key.
Acceptance
The next morning, I shower for as long as it actually takes to clean each limb despite my child yelling.
My off-brand travel pants now have a hole from running after my ninja-kid through the bushes, but I’ve decided that’s stylish and hey, they are long enough that I don’t have to shave!
We return to the same McDonald’s again. I decide to have a new experience this vacation: chicken nuggets instead of burgers!
After our child goes to sleep, my partner and I share a beer and relax knowing we won’t have to do laundry for another two days since he washed two pairs of my underwear with shampoo.
I go to sleep dreaming about the bathroom at home. Soon.
