Airport without child

Last night I arrived in this airport with a 2.5-year-old child. I can’t say he misbehaved during the 3-hour flight. He did pretty well. But he didn’t sleep and it’s hard to keep a child entertained and seated within about one square foot of space, especially when the guy in front of him threw dirty glances every time he touched the table on the back of his seat. So I certainly had no rest and spent every minute attending to him.

We had some fun. I enjoyed his excitement at watching the airport activity upon landing, and I was proud of him for drinking 2-3 cups of liquids during the flight and holding it until we reached the bathroom in the airport. But it was tiring and I arrived exhausted.

Now I’ve left him with grandma and grandpa and am off to Europe on my own, where I will meet Mark. Initially, I missed the entertainment value he offered. If nothing else, he always keeps me amused. Then I didn’t know what to do with myself. I soon figured out how to browse the shops, looking for a birthday gift for a friend, then to snag a seat next to a man playing live on a grand piano, and have some quiet writing time with beautiful background music.

Wow, freedom. Free time. Motherhood has taught me to use it well. But sometimes, I want to do nothing more than space out and enjoy the lack of responsibility.