I made it through the terminal at O’Hare this morning by clenching my jaw and focusing on the positive:
1. I am not that lady with the screaming 2-year-old.
2. In fact, the only cranky child I’m responsible for is myself.
3. The interminable loop of Christmas music just finished playing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” which means I’ve entered the longest interval of not having to listen to it currently possible.
4. I did not have to sleep on the floor last night, like that guy.
5. My plane appears to exist.
6. The main reason this all sucks so much is because there’s someone I really, really want to get home to.
So I’m home now, and showered, and caffeinated, and back in baby’s arms again. So thanks all for your commiseration, and love and cocktails all around for Christmas Eve.