I’m going to Spain with a toddler in a week.
Just thought I would throw that right out there. Partly because I am pretty friggin excited. Partly because I am hugely terrified. Partly because I have a limited window for blog writing at this moment so I figured no need to beat around the bush.
Adam got the word that he has to roll out, and he leaves Monday morning to go kick rocks in Spain. We don’t know how long he will be hanging out there until he gets on his boat and is sitting in the sea for who knows how long. But since he is going to be there, we figured August and I might as well be there, too. So “Olé!” or some shit. I don’t know. I was super excited for a second because I took about 50 years of Spanish in middle school/high school/college but then I realized I know Mexico Spanish and not actual Spanish and also they don’t eat burritos or sopapillas or fried ice cream so I really have no idea what I am getting myself into. But I am still excited. Olé.
August and I are going to fly out next weekend. I’m going to buy everything that Amazon sells between now and then. And have a few heart attacks. Then, when we get to Spain, we are renting a little apartment that we found on Airbnb. Airbnb is the best thing in my life. Traveling with a toddler is a bitch, and hotels are intent on making it bitchier by being like “Hey come chill in this little 8×10 cell with your wackass child. I’m sure they’ll sleep peacefully in their Pack n Play that is wedged next to your bed that they can totally see you through.”
We did this when August was about nine months for a weekend and it was lame. Then we did it when he was about fifteen months for a week and it was straight balls. Those are some damn close quarters to be stuck in, and it makes naptime/bedtime hell on earth. Plus, not having a kitchen is a total pain for us. Before baby, whatever, gimme all the sodium you got, hotel restaurant! I’m not an enormous health nut with my kid, but I also am not trying to feed him complete crap 24/7, and that was our only option during that weeklong stay.
So we found an apartment on Airbnb that has two bedrooms, and is cheaper than any hotel we were looking at. Granted, we don’t have amenities or housecleaning and it’s less pretty. But it has a great kitchen and gives us a separate living space when August needs to sleep, and way more room to live. Sometimes, you can find places that are already equipped for kids, and you don’t even need to bring all your bulky baby crap because it is already in the place you are renting! No such luck this time, but still better than a hotel. I am also enjoying getting to remind Adam every 20 minutes that I am a genius for thinking of looking on Airbnb.
Anyways, here is how life is about to go down. I am going to spend the next week drinking a lot of beer while trying to get us packed and situated for this trip, while trying not to think much about the actual flight or travel experience itself because it’s come close to giving me an aneurysm several times in recent days. We flew two hours to Savannah last summer, and August was a passed out champ both ways. I’m hoping we are as lucky on the way out, because of the 11 hours we will be traveling, eight of them are the flight to Spain and it takes off right at bedtime. Coming home, we won’t be so lucky, but there are personal televisions with satellite TV in every seat, and fingers crossed I can just let him slip into a Sprout channel coma with minimal issues. We shall see. The only thing I know for sure is that airports have bars and airplanes serve booze and thank shit for that.
I’m guessing my next post will be from Spain, and it will either be to tell you what we did because we did everything right, or to ask for someone to send Bill Clinton to come rescue me from the Spanish jail cell I will be sitting in. Adios or something. Do they say adios in Spain?