I Went to Disney World and I Hated It

It’s my son’s 3rd birthday. I’m 20 weeks pregnant, it’s 90 degrees, we’re packed tightly into a unshaded waiting area with hundreds of other sweaty people and my newly-minted 3-year-old is having a total meltdown. I’m exhausted already, I text my husband who is shivering at a conference in an air-conditioned Orlando ballroom. We’re not even in.  

It’s been an hour since we arrived at the Magic Kingdom and we still weren’t in the actual park. Little did I know, we weren’t even close. We wouldn’t even be in line for our first ride for another hour.

When we had left the hotel at 9:00 a.m., the birthday boy, slathered in sunscreen and wearing his brand new Mickey Mouse t-shirt, had spun in circles chanting “Mickey Mouse, Mickey Mouse!” We were both excited for our day together, celebrating his third birthday at the Most Magical Place on Earth.

Lines, Lines, Everywhere Lines

From the time we first arrived at the Magic Kingdom (9:26 a.m., to be precise) to the time we were in line for our first ride of the day was more than two hours. Two long, hot sweaty hours full of me trying to think up new, compelling bribes to lure my three-year-old through one line and on to the next. Let’s just say he ate a lot of ice cream that day.

There was a line for parking, a line to take the tram from parking to the ticketing area, a line to have our bags searched by security, another line to walk through the metal detector, a line to wait for a ticket (even though we’d already bought ours online, we still got to wait with everybody else), a line to get on the ferry to take us to the Magic Kingdom, and then, finally, a line to actually enter the Magic Kingdom. Two hours of lines (and, unfortunately, this is no exaggeration–I have the time-stamped, desperate text messages to my husband to prove it) before we even made it to the first ride of the day.

At 11:48 a.m., we were finally in line for our first ride.

Now, I know that people love Disney World. And I understand that the lines, the waiting, the hot weather, are all part of the package. I’m really not some crazy curmudgeon, I promise. In fact, I take full responsibility for my actions. Bringing a toddler, all alone, to the Magic Kingdom while pregnant in 90 degree October heat is simply NOT A GOOD IDEA. So if you’re thinking about doing this, please reconsider.  

One ride and two ice creams later, at 12:19 p.m., I was still struggling to find the magic in the Most Magical Place on Earth. My toddler was too. He tolerated “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh” ride, but had no interest in riding it again.

I pretty much hate it here, I texted my husband who was enjoying an air-conditioned lunch back at his conference at the hotel.

It’s a Big, Crowded, Hot-as-Heck World After All

At 12:52 p.m, we were in line for our second ride of the day. Armed with a $5 strawberry popsicle, we waited for “It’s a Small World,” which I fondly remember from my own childhood. As the popsicle dripped all over and we got dirty looks from other people in line–mostly wearing custom-made t-shirts that said things like “Disney Mom”–the slightly-cooler air of the waiting area started to make us feel human again. By the time we boarded the tiny boat that would chauffeur us through a very small world, I–for the first time all day–felt a tiny glimmer of happiness. My son’s eyes lit up as he took in the canal, the boats, and the bright geometric shapes that decorated the walls.

This ride–despite its problematic tableau of ethnic stereotypes–was the highlight of the day. As hula dancers swayed and Irish children jigged, we both were caught up in the spectacle of it all. Windmills spun, hot air balloons flew, monkeys hung on vines. It felt, well, magical, and by the end of it, I was singing along to the annoying song. But when “It’s a Small World” was done, we had to re-enter “It’s a Big, Crowded, Hot-as-heck World” once again.

We managed a ride on the carousel (joyous for the kid, nauseating for his pregnant momma), a stop for Dole Whip (the kid was not a fan), then a long, toddler-paced climb up the 6-story-high Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse. Somewhere in there, we got detoured by a parade, shared an $8 hot dog, and made a few potty stops. (Did I mention my toddler is newly potty trained!?)

Meeting Mickey

By 2:00 p.m., my son was asking to go back to the hotel. But, we had one more thing to do, goshdarnit. We had to meet Mickey. We’d come this far. Come hell or high water, I was getting my son’s picture with Mickey Mouse. So, we lined up at the Town Square Theater to meet the beloved rodent.

Of course, my son completely fell apart in line. As families with perfectly-behaved children in Mickey ears stared, my son threw himself on the ground, crying. I carried all 34 pounds of him kicking through the winding line, making promises too unrealistic to even remember.

When Mickey was finally in sight, my son tried to rush to the front of the line. Okay, so maybe it would be worth it? He’d finally meet his hero. I held him back and we waited some more.

When it was our turn with Mickey, I got my phone ready for the perfect picture. Here would be the proof of our magical day at Disney. I waited for my Mickey-obsessed son to run out and give his animal idol a huge hug, like all the other children had.

Instead, he leapt into my arms and clung to me like a scared baby monkey.

I took my terrified child and we stood with Mickey while a Disney cast member, seeing my desperation, snapped a few pics of us with my phone (I don’t think they’re supposed to do this, since there is a professional photographer there and it’s “only” $17 to download one photo.) My son refused to give Mickey a high five. I tickled him to get him to coax a half-smile for the camera.

Then, without even a souvenir in hand (kiddo wouldn’t even try on a pair of Mickey ears), it was time to go. We got in line for the iconic monorail. It was only 3:20 p.m., a time that not many people are leaving the park, so I thought our exodus would be smooth sailing. We waited a bit in line and moved our way to the front. Yes! The very next train would be ours. I could already feel the air conditioning and the relief of finally being able to sit down, out of the heat. It would all be over soon!  (I tried not to think about the tram ride and drive back to the hotel that would follow.)

Then came the announcement. A delay. The next monorail would not be ours; it would leave empty due to some unknown problem. My sweaty, ice-cream stained son sat down on the concrete and watched Wild Kratts on my almost-dead phone. I held back tears as the empty monorail swooshed away. Eventually a new train came. An hour after we had first lined up for the monorail, we made it back to the car.

The drive back to the hotel was glorious: 25 silent minutes of air-conditioning and a sleeping toddler.

Lessons Learned

Would I do it all again? Heck no!

Do I really hate Disney World? Nah. “Hate” is a strong word. But the lines and the crowds are totally not my jam, I will admit. And going to a theme park all alone with a toddler on a hot day while pregnant was a terrible idea. But do I blame Walt Disney or Mickey Mouse? No. I blame myself. I should have known better.

What it comes down to is that I went to the Magic Kingdom because I thought I should. We were in Orlando. My son loves Mickey Mouse (on the tv screen, at least). Practically everybody I know has gone or is going on a Disney Vacation this fall. It seemed like the Thing To Do.

But it wasn’t the right thing or the right time for me or my kid. I don’t think my son had much fun and I know that I didn’t. We spent a ton of money and invested a lot of time and energy into this day.

However, my Disney Disaster is a good reminder that it’s okay if my family vacation looks different than the ones that fill my Facebook feed. It’s okay if a trip to Little Amerricka is enough adventure for my kid. It’s okay to just do our own thing.

So yeah, in the end I got my Mickey Mouse picture. But it turns out, it wasn’t worth it.