We were standing at the counter at Sea-Tac Airport on our way to Alaska a few weeks ago when I turned around and the little hand that had been on my leg was gone.
My son, who had strict orders to stay at my side during the trip from terminal to terminal, was wandering off. I yelled at him, but he didn't hear me over all the commotion.
I knew he was getting bored, and the evening was going to be long after finding out our flight had been cancelled. We were re-booked on a different flight for three hours later. Not what someone who paid a little extra for kid-friendly flight times wants to hear.
Oh, and they had also conveniently re-booked us so that each of us was sitting by ourselves.
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My husband was busy playing Amazing Race and begging for seats on the flight that had "just shut its doors" — I imagine that The Amazing Race hasn't done much for the airline industry in the way of decreasing demanding customers — while I was simultaneously whining about "You don't really expect my 3- year0old to sit by himself, do you?"
Anyways, I turned around just in time to see my soon scooch into the men's bathroom.
He had never been in a public restroom by himself, and I have to admit that the thought of his first time going solo being in a busy airport restroom made me a touch nauseous.
I went and stood at the door to the men's bathroom — psyching myself up for having to run in any minute when he might start shrieking about something.
A few minutes later, he appeared at the door, proud of himself, stating, "Mommy, I went potty all by myself!"
My reply was a stern talking to about wandering off.
"But Mommy, I wasn't wandering. I was going potty," he said.
I wasn't sure how to respond to this.
"Just make sure you tell Mommy and Daddy next time," I warned him.
And no, we didn't get on the earlier flight that had closed its doors. And yes, we were all reseated together before boarding.
All is well that ends well, I suppose.