t’s often said that parenthood is a journey. You try to be ready, but you can never be completely prepared for what lies ahead.
I remember our very first trip together as a family: Home from the hospital after I gave birth to our son. I sat anxiously in the back seat next to the baby as my white-knuckled husband drove us home. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror at us and I couldn’t take my eyes off our scrawny little chicken of a boy, strapped into his huge car seat.
Just a few days into motherhood, I did not expect to be so immediately full of the mama bear instinct. Every bump, every traffic light, every car that ventured everso slightly toward us sent my heart racing. I can only imagine how scary it was to be at the wheel. Later, my husband confessed that the 20-minute drive seemed to take hours.
A few years later we took our first flight with kids big enough to know what was happening, and thus big enough to be potentially whining messes of tears and meltdowns. It was the ultimate "Choose Your Own Adventure" planning challenge. I had prepped for any scenario that we might face.
The diaper bag was crammed with disinfectant wipes (so many germs!), coloring books, crayons and markers, activity pages, healthy snacks, not so healthy snacks and DEFCON 1 meltdown snacks. Kindles were packed with movies, games, favorite TV show episodes and headphones were at the ready. Matchbox cars, action figures. We had extra diapers, extra pants, extra socks, and even extra security blankets. If we were stranded on a desert island, I’m confident we could have sustained ourselves for months from the supplies in this bag.
I