London, Baby: A Toddler Travelogue

I'd never really felt the urge to visit London. It seemed a bit too familiar, and maybe too big, and there was nothing in particular I was dying to see in the city. Once we'd made the journey over the Atlantic, I reasoned, there were plenty more exotic places I'd rather visit. But Todd had a tournament in England, so we decided to give London a chance, beginning and ending our three-week trip in the city.

Usually planning a trip will get me excited about going there, but researching London left me feeling a bit defeated. Even searching many months in advance, apartments were extremely expensive and the selection was sparse. I dug through hundreds of unattractive, overpriced options before finding something in Hampstead, a village-like area a few miles from the city center. I began to compile a map of museums, parks, attractions, and restaurants to see during our stay, but I was overwhelmed by the scope of the city. I was still unsure about London when we stepped off the plane at Heathrow.

It was a rough start. We were all worn out from the flight, so I wanted to cry when we found that the customs line was hours long. Oli quickly got fidgety, Todd started feeling sick, and we miserably wound our way through the line as best we could. When we finally got through, we found the driver of the airport transfer we'd arranged in advance (we weren't about to deal with public transportation after that flight), and he rushed us to his car impatiently—he'd been waiting for hours. After stopping to let Todd puke on the side of the road (something about airplane food, red wine, and jetlag), the driver dropped us off at our Airbnb in Hampstead. I quickly passed out in the bed while Todd took our wide-awake toddler on a walk.

Things improved significantly after a nap. Hampstead was completely charming, and we were in the heart of it. Hampstead Heath, a sprawling park, was just a block from our apartment, with a large playground, woodland trails, and a big hill with views of the city. There was a retail district near our apartment with a perfect little 19th-century pub, coffee shops, and a Marks + Spencer, an upscale grocery that we visited daily. A bit farther away, the Hampstead high street had cute boutiques and cafes, the sidewalks filled with happy people enjoying the warm, sunny weather.

Much as we loved it, we knew we couldn't stay in Hampstead the entire time, so we took the train into the city the next day. Getting into London proper took a long time, and Oli was struggling to get out of his stroller by the time we got out at London Bridge station. We grabbed lunch (and Pimm's Cups to-go) at a little market, then walked along the Thames a bit before finding a little park by the London Eye to have our picnic. We people-watched, then joined the flood of tourists walking along the river.

The crowds thickened as we neared the Palace of Westminster, and I couldn't help but think of the terrorist attack that had happened on the very bridge we were crossing. It was hot, crowded, and Oli didn't want to be in his stroller or carrier—he wanted to walk. We decided to head to St. James's Park for a bit of space. Eventually he got back in his carrier and fell asleep, and we walked by Buckingham Palace before making a quick stop at one of the museums, where we were admonished by a security guard for not having shoes on Oli (he'd lost one in the park). I wanted nothing more than to drop into a pub for a pint, but at that point, our son was officially done, and we started making the long journey back to Hampstead.

The next day was one I'd been dreading: Todd was going to a tournament two hours away, and Oli and I were flying solo for the day. I was nervous to be in an unfamiliar place alone, but determined to get out and make the most of the day. I strapped him into his stroller and we walked toward Hampstead's high street for lunch, taking our time looking at the beautiful houses and gardens along the way. We shared a sandwich at a little tea room, bought a couple of things at a bookshop, and found a farmer's market. Later that afternoon, we walked to the heath together and played in the grass. We missed Todd, but had a lovely little day on our own, and I was proud of us—even if we had kept things fairly simple.

We headed into London again the next day, feeling a bit as if it was our duty to do so. We spent the day checking things off our list: Tower of London, Borough Market, Covent Garden, the Tate Modern. Many of the attractions we wanted to see were spread far apart, and we spent a lot of time walking, trying to keep Oli happy between his stroller, carrier, and his increasing desire to walk (very slowly and rather unsteadily) himself. When we left for Paris the next day, we weren't sad to leave London behind.

We returned a few weeks later, determined to give the city a fair chance. This time, we booked a place near Portobello Road in a converted dairy barn. We were worn out from our travels and mentally preparing for our flight back home, but we made the most of our last day by browsing the stalls at the Portobello Road market and walking around Hyde Park, including the Diana Memorial Playground.

I've found that first visits to big cities are often a bit disappointing. I didn't love Paris the first time I went, and I hated Barcelona. Now, they're two of my favorite cities. I just spend too much time trying to see the must-sees, tire myself out, and miss out on what actually makes those places so special. Maybe London will be like that?

How We Spent a Week in Paris with a One-Year-Old

When we stepped off the Eurostar at Gare du Nord Station, I couldn't help but wonder if we'd made a mistake in coming to Paris. We were loaded down with too many bags and a grumpy baby, pushing our way through the crowd toward a taxi queue that was growing longer by the second. I'd read that Paris isn't a particularly baby-friendly city. Were we going to regret this decision?

I was struggling to hold Oli in my arms while pulling our oversized suitcase when a man motioned us to the front of the line with a couple of other families. He placed us right into a cab, and I handed the driver the address for our Airbnb, scrambling with my limited French to ask him to stop at an ATM. I then settled back into my seat and took in our surroundings for the first time as the cab wound through the narrow streets, and I started to tear up in spite of myself. Paris really is magic—the most beautiful place I've ever been—and I knew we were about to have an unforgettable week.

The driver dropped us off in front of a quirky-looking restaurant (which turned out to be one of the trendiest brunch spots in Le Marais), and we unlocked a nondescript door to the side (up there on the left), then dragged our bags up the dark spiral staircase. On the third floor behind a green door, our home for the week was a little jewel box of an apartment with a comically tiny kitchen, a cozy living room, tall windows overlooking the street, and a bed shoved into a closet-sized room. I never wanted to leave.

As I unpacked and let Oli rest, Todd ran out for provisions. Minutes later, he came back with a chilled bottle of wine, a fresh baguette wrapped in paper, some brie, and enthusiastic tales of all the markets, bakeries, and cafes just outside our door. Over the course of the next week, similar missions turned out to be some of the greatest highlights of our time in Paris, whether Todd was gathering supplies for breakfast (fresh-squeezed orange juice, espressos, and warm croissants from Poilane) or Oli and I were gathering dinner ingredients from various stalls at the Marche des Enfants Rouge down the street.

Another favorite discovery we made that first day: Square du Temple, a playground and botanical garden with a fascinating history just a block from our apartment. Oli quickly gravitated toward the kids playing in the sand, and I sat on a bench and watched the stylish parents and children chattering in French, this ordinary slice of life in an extraordinary place.

Most days we took our time getting ready in the morning, grazing on breakfast while watching the street below come alive. There was a cafe on the corner, and I loved watching various characters settle in at various times of day, smoking cigarettes and pretending to read books while they did their own people-watching.

In the afternoons, we wandered, usually with a general goal in mind: Sail boats at Jardin du Luxembourg. Buy some kitchenwares at E. Dehillerin. Stuff our faces at L'As du Fallafel. Go shopping at Le BHV (and, bien sur, Monoprix, France's version of Target). We took our time and tried to be flexible, given our one-year-old travel companion. The slower pace allowed us to see a delightfully different side of the city than we'd seen on our two previous visits.

There was the day we walked to Place des Vosges, a beautifully manicured square surrounded by 17th century buildings where aristocrats once did equestrian exercises. We bought a few sandwiches and pastries on the way, then grabbed a patch of grass among the Parisians enjoying the sunny day. We took turns eating while Oli played in the fountain, all the while listening to someone singing arias from one of the open windows. Another day, we took an Uber to Place du Trocadero, a plaza with breathtaking views of the Eiffel Tower. After a quick ride on the carousel, we strolled along the green toward the tower, then veered off to Rue Cler for lunch. We sat on a cafe terrace and chatted with an expat couple from Alabama while (again) taking turns eating and chasing Oli down the street.

One especially ambitious day, we walked to the Palais Royal, a former royal palace across from the Louvre. Oli played on the courtyard's famous black-and-white columns, then chased around some friendly schoolkids before it started to rain. We ducked into a little cafe across the street run by a sweet young couple and waited out the drizzle, then walked toward the sprawling Tuileries gardens. I nursed Oli under some trees in one of the garden's iconic green chairs, and he fell asleep in his stroller as we walked over the Seine toward the chic St. Germain neighborhood. We weren't particularly hungry, but we knew we had to take advantage of the unexpected nap, so we sat down at a corner table at a cafe and ordered steak frites and a carafe of wine.

Paris is a different city altogether when you're traveling with a little one. There were days when I tried not to stare enviously at the couples enjoying leisurely meals at cafes. Some outings just didn't work out, like when we went to the Pompidou to take in a bit of culture, and Oli seemed set on destroying priceless works of art. But overall, I truly think our Paris experience was improved by having our son by our sides.

We had thought that a week would allow us to explore the whole city and beyond, taking a day trip or two if we had time. Yet most days, we were content to stay in our own neighborhood, quietly exploring its streets. I love that having Oliver with us forced us to slow down and really absorb our surroundings, and I was truly sad to leave. I think I could have lived that life indefinitely.

That Time I Took My Toddler to Europe

I took my toddler to Europe, and it was terrifying. The funny thing is, the most terrifying part was before we even left the U.S. The planning, the packing, the mentally preparing—I managed to work myself into quite a frenzy while we were still on American soil.

But between the eight-hour flight to London (and back), various trains and apartments and countless Uber rides, temper tantrums and idyllic moments, we managed to have one of the most memorable, significant, and fun experiences of our young family's life.

I'm not here to write a how-to guide, but I'd like to share a few lessons we learned along the way. If nothing else, I hope it'll give a few other nervous parents out there the confidence to keep traveling—even if it's a little harder and a lot different than traveling pre-baby.

Lesson 1: Planes + Trains = Good. Cars = Bad

Obviously this will vary based on the kid, but our toughest travel moments involved cars. The flights to and from London were challenging, but not as bad as I'd feared. Between naps, snacking, and a whole lot of distracting, we managed to keep Oliver pretty happy in the air. Trains were also fine, because we could move around and he could climb on the seats when he got antsy. Don't get me wrong: We were exhausted when we arrived at our destinations. It took a constant effort to keep him happy. But we managed to walk away mostly unscathed.

Not so much with our car rides. It turns out that strapping an overtired one-year-old into a car seat to sit in horrific traffic in an overpriced cab is not a good idea for anyone involved. Likewise, when we rented a car in Avignon with visions of happily bopping around Provence, we didn't imagine they'd give us a too-small car seat and our baby would scream endlessly anytime we strapped him in. And when we finally arrived back stateside, Oli wailed for the entire two-hour drive home from D.C.

The only exception here is Uber, which saved our tired butts on more than one occasion in Paris. It helped that car seats aren't required in the city, although that did make riding in a stranger's car a little bit terrifying. Thankfully, Paris traffic kept things moving slow enough to feel pretty safe in the backseat.

Lesson learned: We were happiest when we could get around on two feet, whether exploring the shops and parks of our Paris neighborhood or traipsing around Hampstead Heath outside of London. Bonus: Oli often napped in his stroller or Bjorn. 

Lesson 2: Pack light. And then leave half of that at home.

I really tried not to overpack. I even bought a new bag that I thought could fit all of our stuff for the trip. But then I also bought a travel crib, and a travel high chair, and we each brought a carry-on (including one for the baby), and Todd brought a big bag of gear for a tournament, and then of course there was the stroller. And suddenly, we were a traveling circus.

Oli barely slept in the crib, preferring to sleep in bed with us instead. We never used the high chair, although it did get us stopped at security several times. I didn't use the big stack of pajamas I'd packed for him—he slept in T-shirts and a diaper because it was hot. And I didn't use the rain boots I'd bought just for London, because it never rained. 

Needless to say, having so much stuff made any travel day a complete logistical nightmare. It was also so unnecessary. Besides not using so much of the stuff, we could have gotten by with so much less because I made sure to book apartments with washer-dryers.

Lesson 3: Stick to the cities. 

Again, this is probably a matter of personal preference and has a lot to do with your kid's tolerance of cars/travel. But we fared best in Paris, where our apartment was perfectly situated in Le Marais, surrounded by restaurants, shops, parks, and everything we needed. Our week there was nearly perfect, filled with good food, leisurely strolls, and genuine interactions with friendly Parisians young and old.

Our London apartment was in Hampstead, which is a few miles (and a long Tube ride) from the city center. The village itself was lovely and we enjoyed exploring it, but when we actually went into London, the time it took to walk to the Tube stop, take a train or two to our destination, then walk around the sprawling city totally wiped us out. 

One of the lowest moments of the trip happened when we tried—twice—to go to the Tate Modern. The first time, Oli wouldn't stop screaming, so we took a walk over the Millennium Bridge while he calmed down. We went back in to try again and didn't fare much better. Worn out from an already full day of exploring, we tried to grab a cab back to our apartment and were told it would cost about 50 pounds for the short ride. We opted to take the Tube back in rush hour and it was fairly miserable.

Avignon also didn't work out as well as we'd hoped. We rented an apartment in this amazing villa overlooking the town, which we planned to make our base for exploring Provence. We thought it would be fun to relax for a few days in a quieter setting after the bustle of the city—and it was truly lovely—but getting anywhere turned out to be a real chore due to the aforementioned car challenges. We ended up feeling a bit trapped in our castle.

Lesson 4: Find a good home base. 

I am so glad we rented apartments (through Airbnb) rather than hotel rooms. We actually stayed in a hotel in D.C. the night before our flight, and just the short time we were in the room was miserable. I spent a lot of time finding apartments that had at least one bedroom (no lofts or studios), laundry facilities, a kitchen, and a bathtub. I also looked for spaces that were attractive, conveniently located, and well-reviewed. I loved all of the spots we rented, and they added so much to our trip (even if a couple of them could have been more walkable). 

Lesson 5: Manage your expectations. 

Going into this trip, I didn't expect it to be easy. I didn't expect us to eat at a lot of restaurants, or go to a lot of museums, or have a relaxing time. It would have been disastrous if we'd tried to take Oli to fancy bistros or the Louvre. Instead, we explored parks, moseyed around quiet neighborhoods, and had picnics. Some of our most memorable meals were in our apartment in Paris, pieced together with goodies from nearby markets and eaten standing up with Oli running between our legs. 

Lesson 6: Breastfeeding abroad sucks. 

I thought breastfeeding might make traveling easier—after all, we wouldn't have to worry about what he'd eat, and it's an easy way to get him to sleep. But finding places where I felt comfortable nursing while exploring was rarely easy—and I have nursed in some pretty public places. There were many frustrating moments when Oli was hungry and fussy and my boobs were sore but I just couldn't find a place to do the deed. I ended up nursing on a toilet more than once, which is a dehumanizing experience, even if it is hidden away in a beautiful British museum.

Lesson 7: Babies bounce back. 

Every day, I was so surprised and impressed with how Oli handled what we threw at him. He napped in some crazy places. He stayed happy despite our bonkers schedule. He tried new foods and made new friends everywhere we went. (Watching him kick a soccer ball with some French schoolkids in the Tuileries was one of my absolute favorite moments.) When we were tired and ready to throw in the towel, he was smiling and encouraging us to keep going.

Parenting isn't always easy, and that's true whether you're at home or thousands of miles away. At home, you'll face challenges like how to take a shower or how to get the groceries in the house with a one-year-old on your hip. And when you're abroad, you're just facing those challenges in another setting—maybe in another language.

Ultimately, traveling with Oliver brought us all closer together and gave me a lot more confidence as a mom. Would I do it again? Well, we just booked a Barcelona apartment for six weeks this fall—and we can't see wait to see what it's like to travel with a two-year-old!

The One Weird Thing I Always Bring to an Airbnb

Our Montmartre Airbnb from 2015 ($75/night!)

Most well-run Airbnbs provide the basics for guests—linens, toiletries, coffee/tea, etc. But there's one thing I always make sure to pack, even though it's often included:

A sponge!

Yes, there's probably already a sponge hanging out in your rental's kitchen, but you literally have no idea how old it is, and whether the previous guest used it to scrub the floor or sop up chicken juice. Not to mention kitchen sponges are known to be some of the dirtiest items in people's homes—even dirtier than toilets.

I buy the pop-up sponges from Trader Joe's, so it's easy to toss a few in my bag.

What about you—do you pack anything weird when renting an apartment?

Oliver's Birth Story

When I was pregnant with Oliver, I read so many women's birth stories, searching for clues as to what I could expect in the delivery room. Of course, every woman's story was different, and my own was nothing like I expected.

I didn't plan to share our story on the blog, but as the first six months have zoomed by, my memories are already getting foggy, so I decided to write them down. I doubt this will interest anyone but maybe a few expectant mothers, and to you I just have this to say: Your story won't be anything like mine, but it will be one of the greatest stories of your life—just like mine is.

Oliver's due date came and went at the end of August, and I slogged through each muggy day, feeling desperate for his arrival. My doctor scheduled me for an induction September 6, and up until then I did everything I could to nudge the baby out—long walks, eggplant, herbal teas—you name it. Of course, nothing worked. We woke up at 5 a.m. on Induction Day and drove to the hospital, where I was checked in and shown to my room in the delivery ward.

My nurse came in and introduced herself—she was a soft-spoken redhead named Melissa. She gave me a gown to change into, brought me some juice, and answered my nervous questions as I crawled into bed and she hooked me up to the Pitocin drip, which was supposed to kick-start my contractions. If all went well, she said, I'd be holding my son by dinner time. I prepared myself for the intense contractions Pitocin is said to cause. But nothing happened.

Hours passed. I heard women in labor screaming in other rooms as I traced a small path up and down the hallway, awkwardly dragging the heavy cart with my fluids behind me. My doctor stopped in several times to check on my progress—though my discomfort had increased, I had dilated very little. They kept upping the dosage of Pitocin, and I started to swell up like a balloon animal. Todd and I played cards to pass the time.

When my doctor came in at 5 p.m., she breezily recommended that I prepare myself for a C-section. I cried after she left the room, feeling that the entire day had been in vain. Melissa unhooked me from the fluids for the first time that day and told me to go get something to eat (also for the first time that day). Todd and I slowly walked down to the cafeteria, where I got a sub and some ice cream. When we returned to my room and they checked me, I had dilated just enough for my doctor to feel comfortable continuing with the "natural" birth approach—natural being Pitocin-induced. I got back into bed, and Melissa hooked me up to the fluids again.

As my doctor went home for the evening and Melissa's shift ended, I met my night nurse and doctor. Surely they'd be the ones to help me welcome my son into the world? I prepared myself for action. And sure enough, my contractions quickly intensified, and as the hours passed, I experienced regular waves of full-body pain. At some point after midnight, I told the nurse I was ready for some help with the pain, and she hooked me up to yet another drip. I passed out immediately, and blissfully, yet stayed conscious just enough to hear the beat of Oliver's heart on the heart rate monitor. If it slowed or stopped at any point, I'd wake myself slightly until it got normal again. When the pain meds wore off several hours later, I had dilated quite a bit more, the pain was intense, and I was ready for my epidural.

The anesthesiologist entered the room, and I was instructed to sit on the edge of my bed, leaning over. Todd held my hands as the doctor stuck a giant needle into my spine—I didn't watch, but Todd's eyes told me everything I needed to know. The bottom half of my body went numb, and the nurse helped me lay down on my side—and periodically helped me switch sides. I'd heard that I wouldn't feel any pain after the epidural—just pressure. Unfortunately, that wasn't true for me. I laid in bed bracing myself against the waves of pain, wondering how horrible it would feel without the epidural.

Eventually my night nurse left, and Melissa returned, surprised to see me still there. I was beyond exhausted, but happy to see her sweet face. She told me I was close, then told me how to breathe through the pain, and how to time my contractions so I could tell when it was time to really push. It was then that I learned that pushing a baby out uses the same muscles as pooping, when she told me to push as if I was taking the biggest BM of my life anytime I felt a contraction. My fears of pooping during childbirth intensified. With that, she left the room and told me to call her in when I was ready.

When the pain got dizzying, and the contractions got very close together, I told Todd to get Melissa in there—now. She checked me and confirmed that I was ready to go. She sat on one side of me and instructed Todd to get in position on the other side. Todd and I had both expected him to sit quietly beside me without too much involvement in the action, but that wasn't the case. He was very involved, whether we liked it or not. He and Melissa held my legs up as I pushed hard against their hands through each contraction. I tried not to feel self-conscious, but I was at first, and I didn't push as hard as I should have. Still, it only seemed like a few minutes before my doctor came in and donned her gloves, ready for the final moments. I couldn't believe it when they told me it had been an hour and a half.

It was right around lunchtime, and I wanted to scream as several other nurses entered the room for assistance and started chatting about their lunch as I laid there spread-eagled, pushing as hard as I could. Instead, I worked hard to center myself, to strengthen myself, each push getting me closer to meeting my son after 42 long weeks and however many hours of labor. His head started to appear—I felt its searing pain, but as I watched the shock on Todd's face I couldn't help but feel a little bit amused. The head was the hardest, most painful part—once that was out, it just took one more big push for the rest of his body to slither out like a wet frog.

They immediately placed him onto my chest, and I struggled to focus through the pain, craning my neck down to see him while trying to catch my breath. I reached up and felt his tiny slippery body as he started to cry, and somehow I moved him to my breast and he immediately started to nurse. I felt so grateful that he latched on so naturally. I tried not to fall asleep as I cradled him. We laid like that for over an hour. I was barely aware of the cleanup going on around me, the stitches, or when they took him away for a moment to weigh him and make sure he was alright. I was told that he was in perfect health, and again I felt so relieved.

Before having Oliver, I didn't know if I could do it. I didn't know if I was strong enough for childbirth. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I would do it again in a heartbeat—and in fact, I do hope to do it again one day, if I'm lucky enough to bring a sibling into the world for Oli. I have a newfound admiration and understanding of my own mother, and all the other moms out there that I know. Pregnancy and childbirth is the most insane experience—I can't think of a better word. And I don't think you can truly comprehend how insane it is until you've gone through it. As painful as it was, I feel so lucky that I got to experience it.

8 Non-Frumpy One-Piece Swimsuits

OK, so you don't actually have to be a mom to wear a one-piece swimsuit. Obviously. But that's why, for the first time since I was maybe 5, I'm in the market for something a little more modest than my usual bikini. Maybe something to do with my still-soft belly or the grabby baby who's following me around everywhere. Whether you're in a similar situation, or you just like the look, I'm liking these surprisingly cute alternatives to the ol' two-piecer.

(left to right, top to bottom) 1. Tavik Chase 2. Jessica Simpson Under the Sea 3. Nanette Lepore Mayan Mosaic 4. Beach Riot Bali 5. Billabong Tribe Time 6. Splendid Chambray Cottage 7. Laundry by Shelli Segal Medallion 8. Kate Spade Marina Piccola

Planning Our First Big Trip with Baby

via Barefoot Blonde

When Todd told me he might have to go to a tournament in England this summer and asked if I wanted to make a family trip out of it, I don't think he expected me to say yes. Oliver will be barely a year old, and the thought of flying overseas with him is intimidating, for sure.

But then I thought about it: It's not gonna be much easier a year later, when he's a toddler. Or a year after that, when we might have added another kiddo to the mix. Or for several years after that. So do we put travel on hold for the next decade, or do we make it work with our new reality?

We won't be walking for miles and miles each day, or spontaneously dropping into a cafe to share a bottle of wine, or lingering over romantic meals in candlelit bistros. We definitely won't be hopping between destinations every other day, trying to cram as much into our trip as we possibly can. But we're going to keep feeding our love for adventure and travel even if it is a little challenging and inconvenient, and I can't wait to bring Oli along for the ride—even if he won't remember a thing.

At this point, we're planning to do London and a bit of England, Edinburgh, and Paris with maybe a few day trips around France if we're feeling ambitious. As usual, I'm going a little overboard with the planning already, and discovering some distinct differences between trip-planning pre-baby and trip-planning now:

• Travel Time — Our last trip to Europe, we flew to Boston first, then to Paris with a middle-of-the-night layover in Iceland, then to Portugal. Back then, it was worth it to travel as cheaply as possible. Now, I'm more focused on getting there as quickly as possible and minimizing time in the air—which is why I've chosen destinations that are easily accessible via train from London.
• Apartments — We almost always rent apartments rather than hotels when we travel, which makes even more sense now that we have a baby—we need a kitchen, laundry, and room to spread out more than ever. But it's also a little tougher to find baby-friendly places, especially in these old European cities. That fifth-floor walk-up apartment with a creaky balcony may have seemed charming before, but now, all I see is potential danger for the baby. It's also more important to find a nice apartment that we enjoy hanging out in since we will be staying in more than usual due to naps and early bedtimes. (Better to be realistic about our expectations, right?)
• Research — Trip-planning is one of my absolute favorite things to do, and there are a few resources I always fall back on during my research—the New York Times' 36 Hours series, Travel + Leisure, Rick Steves, Anthony Bourdain. But now that we have a baby, so many of the recommended restaurants, stops, and itineraries just aren't practical for us. At the same time, I find most "family travel" articles and websites depressing—I don't want to build this trip around playgrounds and restaurants that serve chicken fingers. It's a little tougher to piece together plans that will work for us, and I realize we're going to have to be a lot more flexible.

The trip is still a ways off, but in the meantime, I'd love to hear all your baby travel tips and any recommendations for the places we'll be visiting!