Britt Thorson and her daughter in Italy. | Photo courtesy of Britt Thorson.
There are two reactions when you tell folks you just got back from a 10-day trip to Italy, while six months pregnant, with a 2-year-old.
“Wow! Good for you!” and “Jesus, what were you thinking?”
Before this trip, I was firmly in camp No. 2.
I’m Type A. I like plans, schedules, backup plans and spreadsheets. I am someone who believes vacations should involve a moderate degree of control. Traveling internationally with a toddler offers none of that.
But my wife — bless her — is an adventurer. She’s spontaneous, deeply optimistic, and able to look at a complicated itinerary with a small child and think: “Fun!”
Eventually, she wore me down. And against all odds, we found ourselves wandering the streets of Florence and Venice with a stroller, a portable potty and a tiny dictator whose stability hinged almost entirely on access to carbs.
And it was fantastic. Not relaxing — let’s not get carried away. But fantastic.
Our daughter ate pasta and gelato with gusto. She chased pigeons through piazzas. She stared in awe at Venetian boats and delighted in riding the trains. She drove her tiny school bus up and down the sidewalk outside the Tower of Pisa, and peed (in a potty) on the Ponte Vecchio.
She also had trouble sleeping, melted down in public and nearly broke us on the flight home. But then again, she does all of those things at home.
That was probably our biggest realization of the trip: Parenting somewhere beautiful is still parenting. You’re just doing it with better scenery, better food, (oh, and it’s likely costing you more).
Like many parents who travel with young kids, we made the mistake at first of trying to do the trip the way we would have, pre-child. We skipped naps for day trips and sort of dragged our daughter along our outings hoping she’d rise to the occasion.
For a few days, she did. Then she crashed.
Once we slowed down and accepted that the trip needed to happen at toddler speed, everything got better. We went back to the Airbnb for naps. We lingered in little squares that had water fountains. We stopped trying to maximize every minute just because we were in Italy.
And in the end, our daughter’s favorite activities abroad turned out to be humbling in their simplicity: Gelato. Pigeons. Boats. Chase. Repeatedly pushing our suitcases back and forth across the Airbnb floors
We attempted exactly one museum in Florence to see Michelangelo’s “David,” whom she referred to as “that big guy,” before declaring herself done after an hour. Although she did love all the pictures of the “mamas and babies,” also known as Madonna and Child.
Was this trip restful? Absolutely not. But I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Somewhere between the missed naps, the pigeons, an epic accident at a gelato sho, and “that big guy,” we filled our Adventure Cup before entering a season of life transitioning to two kids, where staying close to home will likely become the norm for a while.
How lucky are we?
