Traveling with Henry has given me a new perspective on things. My memories of traveling with my family as a kid are great. Two week long (or more) driving vacations gave me the chance to see much more of the country than most any of my friends. I missed out on the foreign travel, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. With Henry, now I’m the parent in the front seat.
Henry has a tough time spending the whole day in the car. We’ve done our best to break things up with plenty of stops to play, eat, or just go for a walk. Despite our best efforts (one of us always rides in back with him, too), Henry gets more and more cranky as the day goes by. The morning is typically okay; we can drive a couple hours without much trouble. By the end of the day, though, we have to stop every half hour or so, and even then he’s never really happy in his car seat.
Naturally, I don’t remember the trips my family took while I was a baby. My earliest memories of car travel are from when I was four years old or so. Was I the same as Henry? I didn’t have a car seat back then, so that couldn’t bug me, but I was just as cooped up as Henry is. He wants nothing more than to experiment with his newfound crawling ability; surely I was the same. I want to show him the world and give him a chance to see things he couldn’t otherwise, but maybe that can wait. He’ll be four soon enough. Too soon.