This past weekend I packed up the bags, put the girl on my hip and traveled almost 1,200 miles to the Type-A-Mom Conference in Asheville, North Carolina.
Those of you who know me, know that I am a real advocate of the whole "your life doesn't have to change when you have kids" crazy talk. You know that I work really hard to maintain my pre-kid, spur-of-the-moment, travel-adventure type spirit. I work REALLY HARD. And I'm usually pretty good at pulling it all off...
That is, until this weekend when I fell apart...
In the middle of Hartfield International. Only THE WORLD'S BUSIEST AIRPORT.
In front of every one.
I'm pretty sure there were whacked hormones involved.
The hardest thing that a mother traveling alone with her child has to do during her entire travel is check out of her hotel. Let me paint the picture. There are bags. Heavy bags. That need to get into the car.
You can't leave your kid in the hotel room alone while you take your bags down to the car.
You can't leave your kid in the car alone while you go back up to get your bags.
You're stuck, having to carry your cranky, will-scream-at-the-top-of-her-lungs-all-through-the-hotel-if-you-don't-hold-her 30 pound kid, while you manage to carry a close to 30 pound carry-on bag on the same arm and drag 50 pounds of suitcase behind you, with your free arm.
Dear Crowd of Ten People Standing Outside the Doors of the Sheraton this Sunday in Downtown Asheville, North Carolina (especially those of you who are mothers and know):
The next time you see a mother struggling to hold her daughter while carrying over 110 pounds of luggage down a big, steep hill, instead of pretending not to see her, please offer to help. She will, I promise, greatly appreciate it.
Shame on you all,
Dear Delta Ticket Agent,
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