Last night I had a baby on my lap for a five-hour flight, which
wouldn't be weird, except the baby wasn't mine. Before I get snarky,
let me start by saying that I, like most mothers am sensitive to my
fellow child-bearers, especially on flights. And I was looking forward
to getting to know the little cutie seated on her mother's lap beside
me, especially because after being away from Archer for five days, I
missed him terribly.
But there was a reason I didn't bring
him with me and had he been there, there would also be a reason for me
to get him his own seat on the airplane. Because D-to the-UH! Toddlers
are not designed to sit on mama's lap for five hours.
I,
like most airplane passengers do not look forward to long flights in
cramped spaces, but even worse than a long flight in a cramped space is
a long flight in a cramped space with a child's feet in your face. Someone else's child.
I also do not look forward to wrestling tampons from the little hands
of children whose mothers pretend to be asleep. And believe it or not?
When I buy a five-dollar bag of goldfish crackers, after not being able
to eat for an entire day, I actually want to EAT THEM. I do not want to
give them away because SOMEBODY forgot to bring their child a snack.
Fortunately
after polishing off my dinner, little "Allie" fell asleep. On me. Her
shoes digging into my ribs for another four and half hours. But the
worst part about it was the mother. She said nothing. No thank you. No
"sorry my daughter is chewing on your Louis Vuitton bag..." No, "thank
you for helping me search for pacifiers on your hands-and-knees during
turbulence." No NOTHING.
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