What it’s like to be a single mom in a crowded airport
By MEGHAN QUINN
Guest Columnist
Editor’s note: Scott Saalman is spending the week in the Caribbean trying to find himself. Thank you to Meghan Quinn for covering for him.
On a September morning in 2004, upset that I would not buy her a doughnut, my two-year-old toddler Taylor bolted away in the Denver International Airport. For non-parents, it’s hard to imagine a toddler can move quickly enough to escape an adult, but this is because they have never tried to chase an angry toddler in public. Toddlers are fast, fearless, and completely incapable of being reasoned with.
At security checkpoints across America, airport personnel ask, “Did you leave your luggage unattended at any point during your travels?” This is a question I never imagined having to answer yes to. But when this toddler of mine shot across the crowded airport, I had, in fact, left a stroller, a suitcase, a carry-on, a diaper bag, and a purse unattended while I gave chase.
Luckily, a nearby security guard heard my shrieks, spotted my little speed racer, and scooped her up out of harm’s way. And as I opened my arms and found them filled with the familiar flailing of an over-stimulated toddler, I found myself standing on the edge of a precipice …
To buy a leash, or not to buy a leash? That was the question.
This was one of those moments in parenting, the ones that gave me a taste of my own medicine, that showed me what it is like to eat my own words. I had railed against child leashes. But here I was – defeated and desperate for a way to keep my little runner safe.
I hesitated only a moment when I saw one in a shop nearby. I swear it was glowing in the window. I bought the most expensive full-body harness they had available. It wrapped snugly around the arms and legs with adjustable loops that met at the back, in a five-point star. This was attached to a long piece of strong, reinforced fabric, which had a padded, ergonomic handle. I paid quickly, thanked the sales lady, and carried my still flailing and squealing toddler to the security line. Then came the question.
“Ma’am, have you left your luggage unattended at any point during your travels?”
I could not lie. “Yes.”
“Yes?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” I said.
He sighed and began opening my luggage.
I decided this would be a good time to put my new purchase on my sweet toddler. I needed her to be on her own two feet, supervised and attached to me. I had not anticipated how excited Taylor would be about this new toy. She could not WAIT for it to be on. Finally strapped in, she was grinning from ear to ear, dimples beaming, red curls matted to her sweaty little cheeks, and then she did it.
She dropped straight to the floor. There, poised on her hands and knees, she looked up at me, showed her teeth, and began playfully snarling and barking at me. I was not prepared for this. It never occurred to me when I purchased this harness that it looked identical to the one we used for our dog Ozzie back home. “Get. Up!” I insisted. All eyes were on us. “Taylor, PLEASE get up. We’re holding up the line. You cannot be a dog right now!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman coming towards us. I could not get a clear view, but I knew from the sound of her footfalls she was wearing high heels, and it had been my experience that there is only one kind of woman who wears high heels in an airport; she’s a business woman. She does not have time for airport nonsense. And she was coming straight for me. As she reached me, she began, “Maybe she would behave if you took that leash off of her and started treating her like a human being.”
I stared at her; tears of injustice sprang to my eyes. Didn’t she get it? I didn’t WANT to buy a leash. I didn’t WANT to be holding up this line.
Suddenly, a sweet, gray-haired woman pushed her glasses up on her nose and moved towards me, placing her hand gently on my arm. Taylor was still on all fours, panting now, looking back and forth from person to person, wagging an invisible tail, oblivious that a scene was taking place.
My new friend looked at Ms. High Heels and said, “Spoken like someone who has never had a child. Move on. Come back when you know how to behave.”
The high-heeled woman turned, her own invisible tail tucked between her legs, and vanished into the crowd. I bent down and picked up Taylor. The woman, whose name I never caught, patted Taylor’s cheek and smiled, “My second one was a runner. You just never know until you’ve had a runner.” She winked at me, then disappeared into the busy terminal. I looked at Taylor. She licked my cheek and smiled. “Put me down, Mommy.”
“Not until we get on the plane, Taylor.”
“I’m not Taylor anymore. I’m Ozzie. WOOF!”
The security guard handed my luggage back to me, a sly smile twitching at his lips. He told us both to have a good day, and we slowly made our way into the boarding area.
Taylor proudly wore her harness for the next three years, anytime we were in a crowded place. It carried us both safely on many more adventures, through airports, festivals, street fairs, farmers’ markets, amusement parks. We faced occasional comments over the years, both supportive and rude. But do you know what didn’t happen? Taylor didn’t get lost. She and I could travel together, side by side, without a care in the world.
I was grateful for that harness, but perhaps what I was most grateful for was the day when, in a bittersweet moment, the harness finally bit the dust, and I realized we no longer needed it. Taylor had graduated from runner to careful explorer, and finally … the dog days were over.
You can contact Meghan Quinn at meghanontheporch@gmail.com.