How one trip to the airport made me a feminist

“Are you sure no one can see me?”

“No, I’m pretty sure everyone can see you.”

When my wife and I took our seven-month-old son on his first airplane trip, she didn’t expect she would end up using her breast pump while facing the wall in a public alcove at LaGuardia Airport — a hallway, really — where they stored the wheelchairs, the pump balanced precariously on one wheelchair, my wife leaning on another, and me, one hand trying to block people from seeing what was happening and the other hand wheeling our son’s stroller back and forth so he wouldn’t start crying.

It made the “family bathroom” in the Orlando airport — which a previous occupant seemed to have used as his smoking lounge — seem practically luxurious.