Twin Travel Has No Margin for Error

As my wife and I prepared to take our 9-month-old twin boys on their first flight, the phrase “threading the needle” popped into my head. It wasn’t going to be easy.

We checked a bag, two car seats, one double stroller and two baby chairs only to learn that the kids weren’t registered for the flight. Somehow we got them on the manifest and stumbled through the security line before they started fussing. Reaching for the diaper bag, my wife made a terrifying discovery: We had accidentally packed all the baby bottles in our checked bags. We had never made this mistake before, not even on a short trip. Those cheap but indispensable pieces of plastic were bumping along some conveyor belt in the airport’s bowels.

And so we panicked. We strode the concourses, diving into each store and hoping they might carry even a sippy cup. We considered approaching a couple with an infant and offering them big money for a bottle, though neither of us quite had the nerve to do it. The closest thing we found to a replacement was a LIFEWTR bottle with a funny cap—apparently meant to offer the suckling experience to adults. It was a little advanced for our boys. They tried to drink from it but ended up mostly soaking themselves with formula.

Yet that weird bottle and a few baby food packets turned out to be enough. We made it. When the plane landed, I felt a wave of relief. Maybe the eye of the needle was more accommodating than I’d realized. But whatever relief I felt was short-lived. I’d soon learn that our margin for serious error was still basically zero.

We were sharing a vacation house with friends. After a few days of sunshine, swimming and trying to keep my sons from eating sand, some in our group began to look a little green around the gills. Whether food poisoning or a virus, the result was the same: My wife and friends fell ill, one by one.

Thankfully, the twins and I seemed fine. I urged my wife to lie down. Shortly after she retired, I, too, felt the nausea coming on. All I could do was pray, asking God to keep me upright for five hours until the babies had gone to bed.

I sat on the floor with my sons trying not to move or breathe too heavily. If I went down, they’d be left to care for themselves. I entertained them with household objects. A wooden spatula bought me 15 minutes. A small pot bought me 10. I tried to sing “The Wheels on the Bus,” but even that was too much for my fragile constitution, and it took several minutes of concentrated breathing to regain my teetering composure.

The hours miraculously passed. At the first hint of an eye rub I steeled myself to carry the twins up two flights of stairs. Laying them in their travel cribs, I closed the door behind me and collapsed onto a bed. When the ratio of parents to kids is 1 to 1, the eye of the needle is always small, but you thread it anyway.

Mr. Naida is an assistant editorial features editor at the Journal.