It's amazing how the stomach flu concentrates the mind. With every fiber of my being focused on not throwing up, I forgot to worry about navigating the airport and our flight to Chicago without Greg. Wedged into our window seat, next to a man 6'5" tall (I asked), I couldn't even fasten my seatbelt, let alone try to disguise the fact that I was nursing Baby C. When she kicked our tall neighbor, he merely smiled and said he'd been kicked by taller women before.
When we finally landed, we straggled into the ladies' room so I could decide whether to hurl before facing baggage claim. I decided I could hold off, but that Baby C's diaper could not.
The airport bathroom changing table was half-hidden behind a wall. "You were such a good girl", I said as I changed the baby. "Good job on that flight." A concerned face popped around the corner, looked at me, and then relaxed when she saw the baby. "Oh, thank goodness" she said. "I thought you were talking to yourself!"
Maybe I was. Maybe I was.