San Diego ~ Part 1: Getting there is 0% of the fun. (Skip if you do not care for my woes.)
I’ve traveled with D a lot – more times than I can count, including many many solo trips. I am not shy to call myself a well seasoned traveler with the baby and it fires me up that I can’t get in the expert traveler security line with the laptop crowd just because of my milk and stroller (six years of consulting travel and all these baby trips make me an EXPERT people...get out of my way). Despite this, I dreaded this flight for weeks for fear of what this 14-month old squirmy screaming (for joy) social butterfly would bring now that she’s walking. Finally I might learn what all these parents are on about as they groan about the torture that is travel with toddlers.
Armed with lowered expectations, her favorite toy, favorite book, favorite snacks, favorite hair to pull, bangles and big earrings to distract her (normally left in jewelry box for fear of losing my earlobes), and teething stuff, I stood ready for her to bring me her toddler best. I could take it. After all, I’m a bad ass EXPERT.
But I lost. My determination and bag of tricks were no match for her snotty-nose-induced-ear-pain and overly-large-new-teeth-for-such-a-tiny-mouth. I do not exaggerate when I say she wailed in pain for half the nearly six hour flight. We walked and snuggled, I allowed repeated hair-pulling, we locked ourselves in the bathroom, I shoved teething tablets and orajel into her mouth, I sang in public, and we walked some more. Some people offered to help with cookies and toys (very sweet, but if that worked, we’d be good by now – thanks), while others offered their stares. The flight attendant offered me wine, which I actually did not want unless I could give it to D, and I wasn’t ready for those kind of stares. Seriously, this sucked. And I got my period (TMI but necessary to share for emphasis. Sorry.).
The low point came when (not my finest moment) I started crying myself. Twice. Oh my, did I really? Yes, it could have been worse (like if I was pregnant with her twin baby brothers and had her big 3 year old sister in tow who decided to bite all the passengers). It doesn't matter -- this was enough. I tried hard, but the tears won. I can't believe that was ME.
Forty-five minutes before landing, a sympathetic former flight attendant gave up her seat so I could lay down with her for some horizontal hair pulling and snuggles. She had worn out, fell asleep, and the whole plane enjoyed some silence.
Off the plane, they all looked. I was (in)famous. The chatter about my drama continued onto the rental car bus. It was hard not to feel sorry for the frizzy-haired crying lady badly in need of make-up and some deoderant.
Part 2: Making up for Part 1 with a night out.
[Pictures purposely omitted.]
Part 3: Four girls with three babies means not getting anywhere before noon.
Aw, but look at 'em.

Happy 4th!

Part 4: Beach!

Part 5: Home.
Travels consisted of latte drinking, a bit more crying (this time just her), and ice-throwing (I mean, playing). Most importantly, at the end, there was a nice husband who texted "let me know when you're in the taxi so I can put the chicken burgers on the grill." Perfect.
P.S. If you find yourself in San Diego, I highly recommend Cowboy Star, Point Loma Seafoods, Prado at Balboa Park, and Miguel's Coronado (best free cheese dip ever, with my empty bowl to prove it). Your mouth will love you and your pants will hate you.



This week's highlight...Farm fresh strawberries. They don't come this red from the store. It might be raining and 65 (for the next 5 days; my hair looks awesome), but at least it tastes like summer.
