Dear Wally #48 Toddler Travel

Dear Wally #48 (Inflight Mover and Shaker)
Dear Wally: Any advice for flying across the country first time with a toddler? I’ve heard (and seen) other parent’s horror stories. Now it’s my turn. Help!
-Beth
Dear Beth:
Ok ok. Stay calm. I have recently crossed the country with my infant and the good news is we all survived. Got to figure that 7 hours of anything, good or bad, will be over in 7 hours and 1 minute.
We started out OK. We timed the flight so we’d be flying at night and thus our cherubic 16 month old would be sleeping. But once we got to the airport, plans tore asunder- she was on fire. Never mind the second wind. She was well into her 4th or 5th wind and racing around by the time we cleared security (annoyed maybe that she had to take off her squeaky shoes?). So many strange smelling people and a palpable pulse of stewing international excitement only fed her energy level. It was pretty cute actually.
She quickly learned that rubbing her hands on the terminal’s water fountain resulted in a panicked, 5-alarm, bio-hazmat decontamination by both parents. That happened about 20 times with her and our respective joys being inversely proportional. I’m not especially germ phobic but the Newark Airport Concourse water fountain is pretty much ground zero for the nastiest of the nasty, second only to its restroom. (This airport is one place I’d happily consider wearing an adult diaper). Back-up wipes were already checked in the mutha-ship supply bag so we did a silent and reverent (and ultimately futile) prayer to the diaper gods to leave us be for a few hours, but that’s always a gamble and the house usually wins.
At this age, exploration is everything and these little 16 month old peckers move fast. Especially in public places. Short of putting her in a straight jacket, we had to just intercept and do damage control. Oh, and apologize for the newspapers and M&M’s whipped to the floor. (This jerky, uncontrolled ambulatory phase, we’re told, is temporary. I’m pretty sure the next phase will include all out sprinting and I’m not certain this 40 year old in decent shape will be able to keep up without a dart tip dipped in elephant tranquilizer and a bamboo blowgun). Meanwhile, the thought bubbles above the passengers heads in Alaska Airline’s flt 7 waiting area read something like this:
Holy Crap.
Control your kid, damn it.
How were they allowed to have children?
Maybe Earth will be hit by an asteroid and we wont have to sit next to them.
Honey, did you pack the injectable Kava Kava?
Is that kid a bomb sniffing dog in disguise?
She may be all over the place but she sure is one cute kid.

They finally called the flight and we had the good sense to board very last (the idea being to minimize the passenger exposure ratio.) Our plane mates avoided eye contact. We heard the exhales of relief and caught discreet ‘high fives’ as we moved past them and inched towards the rear, which felt surprisingly like the banishment it was.
A small child has no idea that sitting in a bouncy seat for 1/3 of a day will have any payoff. One can easily imagine their frustration when forced to sit in a lap beyond their allotted patience. To compound things, our snuggly ‘frontpack’ had to be unbuckled and shoved below the seat for take off and landing. The reasoning, from the mouth of an equally dumbstruck flight attendant, was that the device hadn’t yet been tested by the FAA for crash integrity and thus the child had to be held in our skinny, weak arms.
I suppose that slamming into the earth at 550 mph in the event of a crash might be marginally better in a parent’s arms, but who cares at that point? Besides, don’t we need free arms to grab our ankles so we can more easily access our rears for the famed goodbye kiss? Common (not corporate) sense says if you make babies sit on a parent’s lap in the first place, then let the baby be strapped in to whatever device the parent wants.
The unfortunate soul in 25F tried to melt into the window when he saw us coming. Didn’t even fake a smile. His number was up and he knew it. He must have run over a nun with his car in a past life. I tried sometimes successfully to block the Cheerios our daughter chucked at his head with great amusement. This was now all about triage and a battery of small oats to the head, I figured, would leave no permanent scars on this guy so I focused on bigger problems like trying to not get us three thrown out at 35,000 feet.
Halfway through the flight, I caved and spent an hour locked in the bathroom with our daughter letting her ‘work it out’ (read: caterwaul) until she finally fell asleep. My ears have rung less after rock concerts.
A brief quantitative summary:
Number of wipes used: 230
Number of friends made on flight: 2
Number of potential friends lost on flight: all but 2
Number of people onboard we will never see again: 158
Amount I care, on a scale of 1-10: 0

Advice? Pack a bottle so your kid can swallow during altitude changes. Bring an extra pack of wipes. Sit near the back. Get an aisle seat. Tie a string to the Cheerio(s). The new age cliché be damned: When it comes to air travel with an infant, it IS the destination, not the journey. Remember, 7hrs and 1 minute and it’s over! And take the hit upfront- think of the fun you’ll have when you get there! Seriously, don’t worry about it too much- every parent has gone through the same thing.
-Wally
(got a question for our advice columnist or just want to know what flight he will next be on so you can change your ticket? Email him at cwn4@aol.com)