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I was flying alone with my 2-year-old, and she was overtired and crying. The gate agent said I needed to calm her down before boarding. A woman behind me carried all my stuff so I could hold my child and comfort her.
It took a moment to register the gate agent's words over the high-pitched wails of my 2-year-old daughter. One look at her crossed arms told me I hadn't misunderstood. She wasn't letting us onto the flight. Her mouth curled in disgust at my daughter's tear-strewn cheeks. On our way home from where we lived in Maui to visit my parents in Washington State, my daughter had hit her threshold.
She was tired of being confined to her umbrella stroller in the stuffy terminal. But she loved airplanes. Once we settled into our seats, I knew she'd smile again. When the announcement for families with young children to pre-board was made, I rushed to the front of the line.
I was 32, lost, and struggling as a new mom, but I considered myself a pro at traveling as a solo parent. A small victory I clung to. Though I was still together with my daughter's father at the time, I often felt like a single mother. Our relationship was fraught. He usually didn't join us when we flew to visit family during the holidays and summer vacations.
I craved a supportive, loving partnership to share parental duties, but I also longed for peace and respite from the fighting. So I'd learned to navigate my daughter's bulky car seat, luggage, diaper bag, and stroller by myself, proving I could bear the weight of it all without assistance from anyone.