Finally, boarding passes in hand, you stagger over to security for another wait. By the time it’s your turn you’ve lost your passports and boarding passes again, what with doling out drinks and snacks and OMG, you need to throw away all your juice boxes, quick, quick everyone — drink up! Yeah, I know you need another bathroom break, but too bad.

Fold the stroller, which won’t fold unless you kick it in the right place, which is really hard to do when everyone behind you is glaring at you for holding them up. Peel off as many layers as possible. Take off your shoes and warn them to stay put because you really, really don’t fancy visiting your parents with some stranger’s neon-pink Looney Tunes sneakers.

Beep.

Go back.

Take off your bracelet and earrings.

Beep.

Take off your belt and walk through again, holding on to your skirt for dear life.

Beep.

(Oh help, it better not be my sheitel clips, I can’t take my sheitel off here, please!)

Okay, they’re gonna frisk you.

By this time, they have you convinced that maybe you actually are a terrorist about to blow up a plane, and any second now they’re going to discover that bomb hiding in your carry-on, and you’re just a young mother of kids, and where will your poor baby go when they arrest you and….

“Lady!! Move!”

Oh.

Struggle to unfold the stroller that you finally closed, hoof it to the gate — wait. Which gate? Where’re your passport and boarding pass?

Sweat, sweat, not here, not here, phew. Here.

Uncrumple the dog-eared pass and find out that you only have a three-mile trek to the gate. Boarding is in…. whaaaaaaat? It was. Ten minutes ago.

Quick quick move outta my way, up here, no? Down those stairs? Excuse me excuse me, sorry was that your foot? I’m in a rush, no bathroom, sweetie, on the plane. Quick quick.

Made it.

Ignoring dirty looks from personnel and passengers who are filing through the scanners with great decorum, you swipe at your face with your toddler’s blankie, kick the stroller into submission, and board the plane.

Fight two feisty passengers on your row for the right to put your carry-on in an overhead bin that isn’t on the other side of the plane. Ask them to get up again because you forgot bags and chewing gum and your siddur.

Sit down and melt into the seat, your legs still shaking from that marathon. Well, ha. Not with your knees jammed up against your chin like that. Is it your imagination, or do the airplane seats get narrower every time? You don’t think you’ve gained all that much weight in a year.

More dirty looks from the stewardess who is showing you how to adjust your toddler’s seatbelt, which was obviously designed by an astrophysicist with no kids.

Tylenol. Oops, it’s in the overhead bin. Too bad. He’s worn out, he’ll sleep, look at him dropping off. Awwwww. All the announcements don’t wake him. Bliss.

Takeoff. Your ears pop. His ears pop. Uh, sorry everyone for the musical accompaniment. Really, really usually he’s not like this, I’m a good mother, it’s just that… whatever.

A flight longer than the galus, that’s what it is. Deep tissue massage from the very tall woman’s knees mashed into the back of your seat. Whiffs of tuna from your neighbor’s sandwich. Turbulence and recycled air and diaper changes because no, you’re not waiting for the bathroom for 30 minutes only to be told to return to your seat because they’re serving breakfast, and which crazy people serve breakfast when it’s dark outside?

Finally you hear the announcement that uses magic words such as “shortly” and “arriving.” You make weak attempts at freshening up when what you really need is a deep clean at the local carwash. More screeching at landing. You keep yours in.

Then more and more and more waiting before staggering off the plane, looking, as someone once cheerfully put it, like your passport photo.

With effort, you retrieve some form of speech at passport control.

Knock some innocent bystander unconscious while hauling your suitcase off the carousel. It arrived! (Which is more than can be said for last time.) It’s only a bit ripped at the corner. Hopefully nothing smashed inside, but you’re not checking because you. Are. Out. Of. Here.

And as you fall into your parents’ waiting arms and dissolve into rivers of tears, they think it’s because you haven’t seen them for so long.

But really, it’s because you’re going to have to do this all over again in ten days’ time.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 854)