Two years ago this month, my husband and I flew with our then-8-month-old to California to spend the holidays with his grandparents. I had focused my fears on the flight, which went surprisingly well—thanks, iPad!—and didn’t anticipate how difficult it would be for my son to adjust to the time difference. Every blasted morning—until, naturally, the last day of our trip—he started bouncing around in his crib between 3:30 and 4 a.m., ready for action. So we would drag ourselves down to the living room, suck down 10 cups of coffee, and wait three hours for everyone else to wake up. A very Merry Christmas indeed.
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