My husband and I have been world travelers since long before we could utter the words "Are we there yet?" My mum tells stories of breast-feeding me on the backs of ponies in the foothills of the Himalayas; my husband's family moved to Nigeria when he was just 10 months old. Travel at such an early age gave us both an intrepid mindset about globe-trotting that we've carried throughout our lives, and especially, throughout our relationship. (Our most memorable travel experience so far was a kayaking trip to the Tufi Coast of Papua New Guinea—we were only the second or third group of foreigners to visit the area since the '70s.)
Before we had our children (Austin, 4; Alexandra, 3; and Gavin, 2), we thought that by adjusting our lives just slightly we would be able to continue just as before. We wouldn't let the kids slow us down, nor would we leave them behind. Turns out, not so easy. That set of beliefs flew out the window the moment Austin arrived. 
Obviously children are time-consuming and require a ton more work than we predict, yada yada.... But what surprised us the most was how our much our desire to travel had diminished. The travel magazines that used to inspire us had become irrelevant exhibits of folly and unnecessary risk. Our instinct to protect our kids from hazards trumped our itch for by-the-seat-of-our-pants exploration. As we began planning our first family expedition, it became apparent that if we were going to maintain any bit of our prekid wanderlust selves, we would have to negotiate the mental and physical blocks parenthood has imposed on us. But if we wanted the kind of travel that had enriched our childhoods to also enrich the lives of our children, then Disneyland and all-inclusives would also have to bite the dust. Continue reading Musings: The Inheritance of Travel »
