Always Stuck In an Airport
I’m sitting in the airport with Emma, delayed, again. I’m pretty sure American Airlines never manages a round trip without delays, at least in my experience. It’s been part of the game of traveling with Emma, often on my own, which I do a lot. Thankfully I’ve learned from my mistakes and have plenty of extra baby supplies on hand. And thankfully she’s a trooper who is able to nap anywhere. But seeing as today, in this airport, is also my 34th birthday, I figured some reflection was in order. When my flights get delayed, I inevitably utter a few curse words (cue the early 2000s classic, “I’m not a perfect persoooon”). On the way home from England it was supposed to be straightforward, but instead became a 13 hour plane ride, a stay in a roach motel, and a flight the following afternoon. Today it’s me and Emma desperately wanting to get home to spend time with Jeff, who prepared imitation Chipotle for this farm girl with city tastes on her birthday. It’s so easy to get annoyed when wha