Why You Don't Take A Baby on Vacation When It is 115

We were headed to Palm Springs for a friend's 40th birthday party and were already having misgivings about going.  When we booked this trip we neglected to look up the weather and a few days ago learned it would be roughly 118 degrees with a low of 104.  Still, the trip was starting out better than our last one where we almost missed our flight.  We were at the airport early enough to buy water and coffee and change a diaper so things were looking good.  I had recently bought Owen a small maraca and while we were waiting to board I was shaking it for him and dancing around singing, "Shake, shake, shake.  Shake, shake, shake, shaker your baby, shake your baby," to the tune of 'shake your booty.'  

"You can't do that," my husband said to me, appalled.  "To Child Protective Services, that's the equivalent of making a bomb threat in the airport."  I wanted to point out that we were in an airport and he had just said bomb threat but I am trying to be nicer.  I did point out that I highly doubted that there were undercover CPS agents casing the waiting area by the gate and I'm also pretty sure that the people who do in fact shake their babies don't sing about before they do it.  They more likely do it in a fit of rage or frustration much like I experienced four months ago.  (For anyone who did not read that post  I DID NOT EVER SHAKE MY BABY.  I just wanted to.)

But stopped shaking the maraca and singing.  Not to be nice but because I am as easily bored by myself as Owen is and it was also time to board.  Owen was actually great on the plane.  Our second leg, a short jaunt from Vegas to Palm Springs was a little anxiety producing. The plane was roughly the size of a Smart Car and our ride felt like we were on the Spin Cycle of a washing machine from 1930.  I was pretty sure that holding Owen in my lap was a bad idea because at every other bump I was pretty sure the man in front of me was going to end up catching him, or dropping him.  I kept watching the flight attendant's face for panic (which is a trick a pilot friend of mine taught me - don't worry until you see fear in their eyes) but she seemed calm so I tried to remain calm.  (As an aside, I am bothered by the fact that usually when people say 'remain calm' that they are no longer calm.  People should really say 'regain calm'.   But that's a different blog.)   So, I regained calm, we landed safely and I thought the worst of the journey was over.

That's when I got off the plane and stepped into an oven - at 11:00 AM.

It was at this moment that I realized that this trip was going to be a challenge.  I don't really enjoy heat - even this it's not really as hot because there is no humidity stop lying to me it's still 119 heat.'  But Owen enjoys heat even less than I do.  Maybe because at 15 pounds and existing entirely on breast milk and the occasional spoon of banana, he can de-hydrate about as fast as a puddle in the Sahara.  And he has skin just slightly paler than the skin of my Albino sister-in-law's 1 year old. That's right - I said paler.

But, after almost having a meltdown while we waited an hour and a half for the hotel to get our room ready, I regained calm once I go into the air conditioning of our room - and there we stayed until the sun went down and it cooled off to a frigid 108.  Then finally we ventured out to meet our friends.

Aside from us, only one other couple had a kid and he was a hearty four year old who could survive without things like naps and an air-conditioned hut.  So for everyone else, the poolside misters, shade, and frozen alcoholic drinks made it easy to hang out for most of the day.  (Okay not easy - a lot of people gave up at 1:00 and headed for the safety of their rooms - but easier)  But for us, our schedule was very different.  We were out by the pool at about 7 AM where we got to go swimming until 9:00 and then we went back to the hotel room where Mitch and I basically took turns watching Owen while the other person went out.   It made for a hard vacation.

One day, we went with a few other folks to ride the aerial tram high above Palm Springs.  It was something that everyone recommended doing but one of the major draws for all of us was it was rumored to be twenty degrees cooler up on the top.  This sounded amazing.  We could be with other people, be out during the day, and have a panoramic view of. . well, the desert.  What I was not told, was that the elevation change was actually so drastic that it would cause Owen's ears to pop so he cried the entire way up on the tram.  I tried to shift him in the carrier to nurse him but in between the awkwardness of the carrier and the fact that the tram floor was constantly moving around in the circle, I had no choice but to let him cry and try to comfort him the best I could.   The good news is it was much cooler on the top and Owen slept happily through the entire visit.

On the way back to the hotel, we also stopped at In-And-Out Burger, my very first time.  Owen was awake for this.  He did cry in the car but magically stopped when I shook the maraca to, " If you like Pina Coladas," when it came on the radio.  That, and ABBA's 'Fernando'were the only things that seemed to calm him.  (Look, I am not responsible for his taste in music.)

Evenings were a challenge.  In between our perpetual exhaustion, Owen's early bed-time/waking time, and my breastfeeding, gone are the days of drinking until 1:00 and rising at 10:00.  Even on the night that Mitch offered to stay with Owen so I could go out, I was so tired, that I came back after ninety minutes. One night while Mitch stayed out, he ate by the pool while I ate a black bean burger in the dark, afraid to make noise or turn on a light that would wake Owen, feeling around for morsels of food on my plate as if I were blind, but without the finesse of someone who is actually blind.

Overall, we still had a good time.  We got to see fabulous friends, share some good meals (even a few together with those friends) but nothing was easy. And what is the scariest part is that people say that travelling with babies is the easiest travel you will ever have with kids.  But maybe, this doesn't count when you are trying to take your baby to a Bacchanal Feast in the desert.  Maybe that's easier when they are older, like twenty-one.