Flying Solo

A week ago Thursday, I found myself being dropped off at the airport with just two bags. It was a quick transition, less than 90 seconds. No hording the curb space while unloading. No unbuckling of car seats. No counting heads and double checking tickets while digging out my ID. No balancing act with the diaper bag, blankets, car seats or carry ons in my arms and hands. I was flying alone. How easy it was to glide through the revolving entrance door not having to hold kids back while trying to time our movement just right. How easy it was to walk right up to the ticket counter and check my bags. No corraling kids, no disciplining repeatedly for playing with the retractable dividers or climbing on the baggage scale. No pacifying a tired young one. How easy it was to go through security and plop my one bag on the belt and my cell phone in a bowl. No stroller to break down, no blanket to pry from little fingers, no laptop to dig out, no more than one pair of shoes to remove and replace. On the other side of security I discovered I had an hour before my flight would be boarding. I wandered in and out of stores. I leisurely found a place to grab dinner that didn't have "kids meals" anywhere on the menu. I even sat at a table and read a book while I ate. And yet, I was restless. Why did I keep looking over my shoulder and around me? Why did I feel like I was forgetting something? I became anxious at the gate and was relieved when it was time to board. It was a breeze finding a seat, stowing my one bag and settling in for the flight. No car seats to awkwardly maneuver down the narrow ailse to avoid konking unsuspecting passengers in the head as I found my seat, only to bump them with my big diaper bag instead. No last minute runs against the flow of traffic to the one-half-of-a-person sized bathroom with two young children. No snacks or distractions to dig out from the bottom of the diaper bag. No sippy cups to spike with Benadryl. No squirmy toddler to hold in a vice grip in my lap. No negotiations of who gets the window seat. No eyes bright with excitement in anticipation of take off and flight. As we took off and left Portland behind us, silly tears tried to sneak up on me. And that's when it hit me. I hadn't flown solo in over a decade! No wonder I felt unsettled. I had forgotten what it was like. As much as I was looking forward to flying alone, I was surprised by the irony that I didn't enjoy the easy trip like I had anticipated. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? I guess flying by myself and without kids just isn't my style anymore. Although...I have no doubt my tune will change next summer when we pile the six of us in some Boeing 740-something for a hopeful trip to Alaska. And...I'm pretty sure, before we even hit security, I'll be wishing for someone to put Benadryl in MY juice!