Parenting
In a fair corner of North Dakota, where chaos reigns supreme, two parents, blissfully unaware of the impending doom, embarked on a journey that would rival any dramatic play. Traveling with my toddler on December 14, 2018, felt like living out a scene from a Shakespearean tragedy. I was a hapless character in a comedy of errors, exemplifying the trials of parenthood during that chaotic time.
Let’s rewind a bit. Our passports had been expired for six long years. But as antisocial homebodies, this wasn’t a big deal for us. Then came the family vacation plans, prompting us to finally renew those elusive documents. Perhaps we were feeling adventurous, or maybe those passports were calling us like a siren luring sailors to their doom. Whatever it was, my husband decided we should drive to Fargo just one week before Christmas. My instincts screamed against it, but I didn’t have the final say. Before I knew it, hotels were booked, and bags were packed.
With a rush of urgency, I left work early to prepare. Traveling with a toddler is no light task! Imagine packing for a weekend getaway and multiplying that by 70—no, make it 70 times 7! I stuffed an absurd number of outfits into a tiny duffel bag, muttering to myself about the ridiculousness of it all. “This bag is for ants!” I exclaimed, feeling like a packing pro, though clearly, I was just a frazzled parent.
The car was finally loaded, and we hit the road. An hour later, we found ourselves enjoying greasy food at a Buffalo Wild Wings. My toddler, usually resistant to dining out, seemed unusually cheerful, which I took as a good sign. But that joy was short-lived.
Fast forward to the drive to the hotel. Darkness fell, the cold seeped in, and I could hear the unsettling sound of running water. Confused, I looked around, only to realize my toddler was in distress. “Pull over!” I shouted, but it was too late. My sweet boy was in the midst of a very unfortunate incident, and chaos ensued.
As we pulled into a random parking lot, we frantically tried to clean up the mess. It felt like we were bailing out a sinking ship. I wrestled with the reality of changing him in the trunk while he shivered in the frigid air, my heart aching for his discomfort. I tried to soothe him with a lullaby, though I sounded more like a bad karaoke performer.
After finally cleaning him up, we continued on our way, a little shaken but hopeful. Just when we thought we’d escaped disaster, it struck again. My toddler emptied his stomach not once, not twice, but five more times before we reached the hotel. Five times of standing outside in the freezing cold, scooping up vomit with my bare hands. It was enough to make me question my parenting skills, as I felt a judgmental voice echoing in my head.
We finally arrived at the hotel, but our spirits were broken, and our clothes were a disaster. With my toddler asleep in my arms and mascara running down my face, I checked us in, only to find that our suite had no bathtub—just a standing shower. I stripped down, sitting on the shower floor with my little one in my arms, trying to wash away the chaos of the day.
My husband, the unsung hero, stayed up late washing everything we owned while I just tried to hold it together. Eventually, we snuggled into bed, exhausted but relieved. That’s when the real fun began.
For more relatable parenting tales, check out this other blog post. And if you’re interested in topics around home insemination, you can find valuable information here.
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In summary, traveling with kids can often lead to unexpected chaos and stress, but it also offers moments of connection and resilience. While the journey may not always go as planned, the shared experiences become cherished memories.