A wise woman once said, “I need therapy every time I travel with my kids”. And when I ended up in an airport bathroom stall with my luggage squished under the toilet paper roll, my baby strapped to the front of me in the bjorn, and my two-year-old wiggling out of the stroller trying to splash in a bathroom “puddle”, all while I squatted down to pee, I’d say I deserve some time in the shrink’s office too. J
I’d better schedule my appointment soon, because I’ll be traveling this weekend with the whole crew. I’m hoping we don’t have any bad repeats from our past traveling experiences. Like that time the woman behind us on the plane decided to intervene while we were dealing with a screaming one-year-old by saying, “you might wanna try something else, because this is obviously not working”. After which I cried, and possibly swore a little.
This time, I may or may not pack a tranquilizer for my offspring. And after our ten hour travel day, I’ll go to bed at night dreaming of the days long ago when I read books and celebrity gossip on airplanes and maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to pay for a therapist after all.