Technically, the weekend (see parts one, two, and three) was long over by the time we were headed back to Ontario, but I had to share this one last anecdote.
Heading through airport security with an infant for the second time. We’re pros. Laptops out of bags, kid out of stroller, stroller off to the side for the security guy. I head through the scanner, followed by hubby holding baby.
Hubby’s number is up. He’s been selected to be swabbed for explosive material. Fine, I step up assuming I’ll be wanted to take the baby.
By the time I’m in reach, the guy is swabbing the baby’s hands. Not his clothes. His hands. I’m so dumbfounded I don’t even think to ask: What exactly did you just rub all over by baby’s hands that he’s now got in his mouth?
Even if my husband and I were terrorists, what exactly is the picture being imagined here? Evil husband and wife duo making bombs in their lair. Tangled red and blue wires, smoking soldering irons, bubbling beakers…and a baby playing with C-4 in the corner??
Or maybe they think the baby in sneaking out of his crib at night and getting up to all kinds of mischief.
The test was negative. Phew, I guess we dodged that bullet.