The end of "packing light"

I've been scurrying around our apartment for the past two hours now, feverishly checking my to-pack list and squirreling away clothes, medicines, personal-grooming items, toys, books, bottles, sippy cups, and about three-million other assorted items into various suitcases and carry-on bags in preparation for our Thanksgiving journey to Albany, New York. We leave tomorrow morning.
If I may bitch and moan for a moment, I would like to play Mistress of the Obvious here and announce that PACKING "LIGHT" IS IMPOSSIBLE ONCE YOU HAVE CHILDREN. I mean, damn, people. Maya, a toddler, requires way, way, way more gear than I do. Her suitcase is crammed full to bursting, and my two big old carry-ons are jam-packed with all manner of toys and snacks for her for the plane. (In contrast, the only personal "fun" items I've packed for myself are a Newsweek and a novel. Oh, and some gum. And a pot of lipgloss.)
I realize a child does not necessarily require 600 new toys for a five-hour, cross-country airplane ride. However, I am desperate for her to behave and remain reasonably occupied and contented during this flight. The only sound more panic-attack-inducing than a child crying in a car is a child crying on an airplane. Am I right? I'm just really, really hoping to keep the wailing and tantrums to a minimum while we're 30,000 feet off the ground. S and I are going to stuff this kid full of Cheerios and read her stories till we're hoarse. Then, when all of that has lost its novelty for her, we'll start pulling out the toys, the coup de grace of which is a borrowed Mr. Potato Head, courtesy of one of my mom-friends. Maya has never laid eyes on a Mr. Potato Head before, and I know the interchangeable eyeballs and lips and ears and shoes are going to blow her mind, rock her world, and the like.
So yeah, I'm packing a ton of toddler gear and about one square foot of stuff for myself, and my old, pre-baby strategy of "packing light" for Thanksgiving has been totally shot to hell.
Buh-bye, packing light! I'll see you again in about twenty years, maybe.