Growing up in the Bahamas, I am used to expanses of white powdery sand, untouched by human footprints. Mile upon mile of deserted beach surrounded only by bright turquoise ocean, so bright that your Facebook photos look Instagrammed. This is my norm. Every year I returned home to exhale until I had my son. There is nothing joyous or relaxing about traveling with a wild two year old, but one long weekend introducing him pigs that swim in the ocean, chasing turtles on a Hobie cat, petting rays that he thinks are characters from a Pixar movie, and running and running and running until you reach the end of the land makes lugging a car seat through a crowded airport something you'll do as often as you can.