A Whole Different Kind of Mile High Club

Have you ever been somewhere, just minding your own business, when the shrill shriek of a mounting toddler tantrum pierces the air? It's cringe-worthy for sure, but most of us with small children send the parent of that difficult toddler a supportive sympathy smile while secretly thanking our lucky stars that it's not our kid. "That sucks," we think as we go about our business.

But you know what really sucks? When it just so happens that your child is the tantrum throwing jerk. And you know what sucks even more? When your sweet, adorable child turns into a maniacal monster on a freaking airplane. Having family and friends up in Northern California, we travel up there quite a bit. In a prolonged fit of insanity, we've managed to visit five times in the last year. The toddler terrorist is accustomed to flying, and although she does get squirmy and antsy, she has never had a full on meltdown that made me want to don my oxygen mask and holler at the flight attendant to bring me as many mini vodka bottles as she can carry, stat. The powers of the universe convened and ultimately decided that I was indeed due.

On this particular trip, I was flying solo with the terrorist. Being a rather large and cumbersome seven months pregnant, everything seemed a little more complicated than usual. The wait at the airport set the tone of trepidation, as somehow I had forgotten to charge every single electronic device intended to distract Bugsy's attention. Oh hey, little terrorist, want to play on the iPad? Oh crap. Just a second. Mommy sucks. Don't cry don't cry don't cry! Here is the DVD player. It's dead too? Ohhhh no. This can't be happening. Dear sweet baby Jesus, have mercy on me! As the toddler terrorist began to loudly voice her disgust, I sent a code red text to my husband.

As we began to board the airplane, I prayed to all things holy that the toddler would keep a lid on the volcanic tantrum eruption that seemed inevitable, but as we settled into our seats steam came out of Bugsy's ears, her face turned bright red and with an explosive scream that could ground airlines within a fifty mile radius, the flight took a hostile turn.

I did everything I could. First, of course, I took a picture for evidence. Then, I begged. I pleaded. I scolded. I raided the arsenal of toys I had packed in my over-stuffed carry on. I prayed. I felt the sweat trickle down my back and hid my face in shame. I imagined every passenger raising a skeptical eyebrow as they surveyed the scene, certain that they were eyeballing my pregnant belly and concluding that I couldn't even handle one baby, let alone two.

Just as I had resigned myself to the inevitable fate of certain death by toddler terrorist, she arched her back, chucked a shoe at the window like a Cy Young award winner, and, with a final howl of indignation, the clouds parted, the birds began singing and Bugsy passed the hell out. I had just been inducted into the a whole different kind of mile high club. I smugly looked around, puffed my chest out with the confidence of a Mother of the Year and opened a magazine. Piece of cake.

Taking to the Unfriendly Skies

In less than a month, I will be embarking on a solo plane trip with the tiny terrorist. It's a rite of passage through which all mothers must pass, but it has me trembling in my Toms. I have witnessed close friends of mine take flight with toddlers in tow without incident, but I always seem to be the exception to the rule. My husband and I travel frequently, yet we always seem to roll deep with stress and luggage.

Take the San Diego Airport. Whoever invented the Southwest terminal had a diabolical anti-baby plot brewing as he deviously drew up plans for a circular floor plan that forced the millions of travelers to shimmy by each other like packed sardines as they chase their own tails (or toddlers in our case) around, and around, and around...

Then this mischievous little terminal creator decided to put in one bar. It is always packed and the people are always spilling out into the already too small walkway, adding insult to injury to frazzled parents. Smell that delicious scent of libation freedom? Too bad you can't have any as you race through a throng of travelers, desperately chasing your independent (and really fast) child as she is resolutely hell bent on boarding a random flight sans parents.

Our last trip was particularly memorable. It was so crowded that I was forced to confine my little runaway in her stroller. The only good news was that her outraged screams were drowned out by the other travelers screaming over one another to be heard. I caught my husband's eye from across the terminal as we simultaneously rolled our eyes and pulled our imaginary triggers in a futile attempt to disappear from the hell that is the Southwest terminal of the San Diego Airport.

Now let's talk airplane. Everything you are doing with your child, the flight attendant demands you do the opposite. If you are wearing your baby, you must remove her from the carrier. Never mind that she is sleeping, it is a fabulous idea to remove her just so that the flight attendant can raise a disapproving eyebrow as the baby erupts into screams, cranky that she was just so rudely awoken. As we take to the unfriendly skies, we are admonished for playing Mickey Mouse without forcing our 13 month old to wear headphones. I'm sorry, ma'am - have you met a 13 month old? Surely you haven't, because if you had you would certainly understand that getting a child that age to wear pants is a success. Headphones might be pushing it a little. And as you reason with this lovely flight attendant who is just doing her job, you remind her that a screaming toddler is much more disruptive to the passengers than the background melody of Hot Diggity Dog.

No? Okay, lady, you asked for it. There goes my toddler, bum rushing the cockpit as she petulantly pelts peanuts at unsuspecting passengers while belting out her favorite war cry rendition of Let it Go. Face flushed and feeling as though every eye in the plane is boring into my back, I frantically lure the outlaw Bugsy Malone back to her seat with a trail of toddler tricking snacks and resume the task of containing the wiggle worm to her assigned seat. Sigh.

We once sat next to a nice man with really long dreadlocks. When he first sat down next to us, we told him he was brave. He laughed it off and said she looked like a sweet girl and besides that, he loves kids, he claimed. My husband and I raised our eyebrows and smirked. Fast forward to mid flight, and the tiny terrorist was having the time of her life yanking on his luscious locks while he looked tried to laugh it off but was surely covertly Googling where he could turn in his kid loving card.

I have always had my husband to help wrangle the wild one. When she is sick of me, she can climb on her dad and vice versa. This time I will be flying solo with my sidekick who is always unpredictable. If it goes badly but I live to tell the tale, I will sure to share my stories. I'll see you on the other side!

Do you have any tricks for traveling alone with a toddler?