I once cried in an airport bathroom stall.
Not a cute little tear.
Not a delicate dab with a tissue.
No.
I’m talking full dramatic episode:
Face in hands, breathing like someone who just outran a cheetah, questioning every life choice that led me to Concourse C.
Meanwhile, my child — who has the confidence of a small celebrity — was giving me updates like a sportscaster:
“Mom, your mascara is melting. It looks like spider legs.”
Thank you, my love.
So grounding.
We had been traveling all day.
Snacks? Gone.
Patience? Evaporated.
Her emotional tolerance for being told what to do? On low battery blinking red.
Then TSA asked her to remove her shoes.
Her beloved sparkly shoes.
The ones that light up like a disco when she runs.
She absolutely lost it.
Then I lost it.
So there we sat — on the bathroom floor — like two exhausted woodland creatures who wandered into the wrong ecosystem.
And just when I thought,
“Well, I guess this is who I am now,”
We walked out and saw another mom at the sink.
Solo parent.
Baby hip-hiked.
Backpack hanging at the angle of defeat.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
And she did the nod.
The “I see you. You’re not alone. We’re all feral here.” nod.
And I swear my nervous system rebooted.
Traveling with kids is not elegant.
It is not effortless.
It is 90% emotional management and 10% remembering where the applesauce pouches are.
But that nod?
That nod says:
We survive this together.
If you’ve ever cried in an airport bathroom, congratulations — you’re officially part of the Executive Travel Mom Club.
Meetings are daily.
Snacks provided.
Dress code: stretchy pants only.
