And this one is mine. And this one. And that one over there. And I’ll just sit on this one to keep it safe. Oooh, how about THIS one?

1. I am more likely to clean if someone is coming over who might judge me. On a related note, it’s AMAZING how much you can get cleaned in an hour if you have to.
2. My child REALLY needs at least two massive sessions of physical activity a day to not be a total pill. Oh, he’ll still be a pill, but less so.
3. Changing a habit is really hard. Changing more than 5 at once is a recipe for crazy making. But once you realize that you need to change something, and you actually take it to heart, it’s impossible to not try.
4. My kid is awesome, but he is not a sit quietly kind of kid. Maybe someday he’ll be able to do things like hay rides and story times, but for now, it’s better for us all if we don’t try to make him be what he’s not.
5. Having someone watch your kid for free is SO MUCH better than paying a babysitter. I really need that babysitter’s collective I’ve been dreaming of.
6. Being a parent comes with certain physical dangers. If anyone has any hints on how to stop being a toddler punching bag, I’m open to suggestions over at Noodle Knobs.
7. A full weekend, while exhausting, makes it that much easier to really leave work at work. Making memories (both good and bad) is a great use of a weekend.

In retrospect, spilling most of my 44 oz. Diet Coke in my lap on the way to the airport wasn’t really a good omen.

Soaking wet, sticky, and nervous: three things I didn’t want to be as I headed into my 3 hour flight, without N.C., with Jackson. And yet, that’s exactly how my trip started.

It went downhill from there.

We got through the ticket counter where they checked the copy of Jackson’s birth certificate (I’ve never had Southwest NOT check, btw) and got our luggage loaded up. We headed to security, and I thought, “Score! No one’s in line!” I was able to take my time getting everything on the conveyor, getting J out of the stroller, getting the stroller folded up, walking J through, going through myself. And then, J darted into the little side area where they hold you for random searches. Shit. Well, no matter, since the next words I heard were, “It’s ok ma’am, you’ve been chosen for a search anyway! He just knew where to go first!”

Of course, alone, with a stroller and a kid and a bag and our shoes and we have to go to the area OVER THERE, the guy says, “oh, here, let me help you.” And then proceeds to grab my shoes.

And nothing else.

No time to undo the stroller and get Jackson situated, so I try to corral him while putting our bag back together, while getting my stuff searched. Turns out they only wanted to look at my shoes, and after two quick sprints to catch Jackson before he 1)opened the emergency door and 2) crawled under the scanning table, we’re done and I’m trying desperately to get him re-situated. Luckily, though, this whole endeavor only took about 10 minutes. We had gotten there with plenty of time to spare, so I thought, “Well, we still have time to grab some snacks and maybe a special toy for the plane, go to the bathroom, and that should put us right at boarding time.”

Ha.

Walking up to our gate, I see the first of many discouraging numbers posted. Where the boarding time should have read 10:25, it now read 11:00. Hmmm. Ok, fine. Off to the bathroom first, that’ll kill some time. Then to the shop to pick up a water bottle, some snacks, and a toy. Now to the snack stand for, yup, a snack. Look for a seat, near some kids, hopefully? As we sit down, I notice the numbers have changed. 11:15. It’s probably…10:00, at the latest. Great. Eat our snack, have some water. Watch some youtube videos (this one, on repeat, please momma). The numbers change again. 11:30. Then 11:45. Then 12:00. Time to bitch to Twitter.

The worst part is, there’s no where to let Jackson run. This part of this terminal of this airport is a big, crammed circle. I remember being stuck here as a kid on layovers on the way to my dad’s or back to my mom’s, and while there are better amenities now (read: any), it’s still tiny and without any kind of room. Particularly when 6 flights are delayed and so passengers upon passengers are stacking up in the limited spaces to sit, stand, breathe. I could have left–gone back through security and found someplace in another part of the terminal for J to stretch his legs, but my fear of getting hit, again, with the security stuff meant I was running scared. Finally, about 25 minutes before we ultimately boarded the plane I found a mom of a little girl who was willing to watch my stuff so I could at least let J walk and hold my hand through the crowds. I let him walk and even run a little, but it wasn’t enough to counteract the 3.5 hours he had been stuck sitting in either a carseat or a stroller. We boarded the plane with a SIGNIFICANT check mark against me.

On the plane, things got worse. I spent 5 minutes or so getting settled in a seat, in a row with a mom and kid (score!) with a flight attendant watching me struggle the whole time. When I was finally settled, he says” Ma’am, you can’t sit here. We can’t have two lap children in the same row. You’ll have to move.” Ok, thanks for letting me know 5 effing minutes ago dude. I gather all my crap, and my kid and move to the back of the plane, trying to keep J calm.

Take off goes OK by plying the kid with food the entire time. Chewy food and drinks to try and help with the air pressure change, which either worked like a charm or my kid just doesn’t acknowledge physical discomfort. Of course, he did manage to poop about 30 seconds after we took off. So that was fun. That was the end of the easy part though. From there, everything, EVERYTHING was a struggle. Jackson wanted to get down, I wouldn’t let him. He wanted to climb, I couldn’t let him. He wanted to walk, I wouldn’t let him. Finally, the fasten seat belt sign goes off and I’m able to get up and change his diaper. Of course, this being my day, I stand in line at the bathroom in the back for about 5 minutes before I get BERATED by the same jerk flight attendant for being at that bathroom.

“Ma’am, are you going to change his diaper? You can’t do that back here, you have to go the front. And you can’t hover up there, so stay back a few rows. And ma’am ask that flight attendant up there for a trash bag. Don’t you dare throw that diaper in the trash in the bathroom, do you hear? You CANNOT throw that diaper in the trash in the bathroom. You have to go up there, you can’t be back here. I mean it, too, about asking for that trash bag.” Well, you’re missing the derisive shithead tone, but I guess you’ll get the gist.

And of course, I got ALL the way to the front of the plane and was told I couldn’t wait there, and that I needed to go back to my seat and wait. I literally looked at my seat, looked back at the flight attendant, and blinked at her. Luckily, the person occupying the bathroom chose that moment to come out, because I’m not sure what I would have done next. Especially given the fact that as soon as I got into the bathroom, I burst into tears.

I stood in that bathroom, and tried to change my kid’s diaper on that itty bitty teeny changing table, and cried the ugliest cry I’ve had in a long time. And this was all of 30 minutes or so into my almost 3 hour flight. I cried from frustration and exhaustion and because I knew, oh I KNEW, this wasn’t the end of my rough flight.

Sure enough, the next 2.5 hours was filled with my kid being THAT kid. He kicked the seat in front of us so much I’m pretty sure the girl sitting there hurt her neck from whipping around and giving me a death stare so often. He bit me. He kicked my seat mates. He flung himself in the aisle and threw a tantrum. He never slept. He barely watched any of the videos I had for him. He ate, some, which was my only respite. At one point, after he had bitten me, and I had yelled “OW! NO BITING!”, the row beside me laughed, and laughed and laughed at me until they were crying because it was so funny how bad of a mother I was. (And yes, I heard them say this and many others. They were not discreet). They must have laughed at me for a good 20 minutes, while I’m trying desperately not to cry AND trying to corral my kid.

The saving grace of my flight, the ONLY redeeming thing, were the two lovely women who sat next to me. They were teachers, and angels, who told me over and over that I was doing great, that traveling with a kid his age (by myself no less) is hard, that he’s doing fine and being a kid. They let Jackson sit on their lap, and look out their window, and played games with him. And they were the only people on that plane that didn’t make me feel like a shitty mom.

At this point, 5 days removed from the situation, I can ALMOST see the absolute ridiculousness of the situation. I can see how a series of circumstances culminated in a ROUGH time. I can see how, if you remove the tone of voice (which I kinda can’t, but anyway), the flight attendant was doing his job. I can see how I’m not a bad mom, and I can see a myriad of ways it could have been worse. I can see that people misjudge Jackson’s age (due to his size) and so expect more from him. I can see how a lot of what he did was just toddler behavior. I can see that some people are just assholes.

But that day? I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to NOT remember how absolutely horrible I felt–for my fellow passengers, for Jackson, and for me.

1. Sleep. Bedtime is taking an hour. Multiple night wakings. Grouchy mommy. Winner: Toddler
2. Food.Toddler rarely eats vegetables, unless hidden in a smoothie. Would be perfectly happy eating cereal and yogurt full time. At least he’ll eat those. Winner: Toddler
   
3. Dinner as a family. Child refuses to eat sitting down. Wants to graze all day. Would rather feed his food to parents than eat it himself. Winner: Toddler
4. Getting your way. Toddler wants what he wants when he wants it. Screams if he doesn’t get it, or gets told no. Parents refuse to cave 90% of the time. Winner: Parents (I guess, can you call listening to 800 tantrums a day winning?)
5. Television. Oh, let’s just not even get into it ok? Winner: Draw. TV is a win for us both.

Clearly, the Toddler is winning this round. But I’m confident the Parents WILL prevail, in the end…

As always, you can find more lists every Mon­day over at ABDPBT!

So, if you don’t read my parenting foibles over at Noodle Knobs (why not, are you TRYING to make me cry?), or don’t follow me on Twitter, you might not know that my night-time freedom has ended.

That’s right. Jackson is now in a toddler bed.

When we were in Vegas, Jackson slept in a pack-n-play. Which he quickly, QUICKLY realized he could climb right on out of. Giant child versus small pack-n-play? Round one goes to giant child.

As an aside. My kid? He’s giant. He is. Last time we checked (a good 3 months ago) he was 36 inches tall and 31 pounds. He wears size 3T & some 4T clothes. He barely fits in his stroller anymore. He is a MONSTER of a little dude. But he’s such a cute 3 year old looking 21 month old!

Shortly after we got back, it dawned on the kid…Hey WAIT A MINUTE. If I could climb out of that other one, maybe I can climb out of my crib? And thus began three straight days of ninja-silent acrobatics to climb out of his full-sized crib. He would be out before we even had the door closed. It was…spooky. And a little worrisome. Despite watching the ease with which he did it (seriously, it was like he was a professional crib-climber. He’d throw his leg over, get his other leg over and the lower himself to the ground.), there were a few too many questions. What if he tried to do it at night, when he wasn’t quite awake? What if he missed and fell? I’ve heard enough horror stories, and worry enough myself to realize neither N.C. nor I would ever be totally comfortable with him in the crib again.

And so, the toddler bed emerged.

We have one of those convertible cribs. It converts from a crib, to a toddler bed, to a twin bed. For the toddler bed, you just…take off the front of the crib. Voila. And then you have a low to the ground, and yet completely open front toddler day bed.

If you heard a record scratching there, you’d be hearing right.

Because what this means is that:

1. Our child has full access to the entire room without even the slightest deterrent.
2. Our child can now roll off the bed in the middle of the night.
3. Our child no longer has the security of feeling enclosed.
4. Which all means, we’re all sleeping for CRAP.

Right now, nighttime looks something like this: put kid in bed. Lay next to him, saying night night every time he pops up like a little prarie dog. Get him almost asleep. Try to leave room. Wailing, screaming occur. 15 seconds later, the doorknob is being jiggled and the screaming gets louder. Go into room, lights are on (did I mention he can reach the lights? No? It’s as awesome as it sounds in this context). Say, night-night buddy, get back in bed. He toddles over to the bed, climbs in, we go through the routine again. This goes on for up to an hour and a half (though I sometimes just sit in the chair in his room until he’s asleep rather than do the back and forth).

From there, we generally are having between 3 to 6 wakeups per night. I know of at least two that have been him rolling out of the bed and being scared (nothing like coming in and seeing your toddler laying in the middle of the floor crying at 3 am!). We have pillows and stuff next to the bed so he’s not “falling” so much as “rolling into a squishy soft mess”, but still. Usually, the night wakeups include the lights on, doorknob jiggling routine.

We’re currently looking into buying a rail (which is cheaper, we think, than buying a new mattress for the twin bed conversion), to see if that will at least help #2 & #3. Because of course, the crib didn’t COME with a rail. What genius thought that up? But I know that the biggest part of this is probably just going to have to be that we suck it up until he figures it out. It’s a pretty big transition, particularly for a kid who LOVED his crib so much. It’s one of those cases where him being so physically large and advanced is kind of problematic given that he’s not REALLY as grownup as his actions might show. He’s still not even two yet, and we’ve now let the entire freedom of the room open up to him. So I think we just have to work our way through it.

But man am I tired.