Dear lady in seat 9B,
No, no your stink eye isn’t going to change the fact that my child is fussing. Sharing how much you hate babies isn’t making the situation anymore pleasant. I’ve sat next to you for 23.2 long minutes already, through take off and leveling off. Let me tell you, this flight sucks. When you said my child was ruining your flight because she fussed 8 times (yes, I’m counting), I thought you might just be having a bad day. When you threatened to kill me, I realized you were special-ish. Huffing and saying “oh god, when will this end” is only the icing. When will WHAT end? The flight? Lady it all ends one day, all except your inability to not be an jerk for a 3-hour flight.
So, to the 9B’s of the world, listen up. Moms are sick and tired of the judgment, the side-eye, listening to you tell us how to parent a baby you’ve never met. We’re about done.
- I took a class in college, called B-I-O-L-O-G-Y. The professor harped on this silly notion that all living things are “infants” then juveniles, then adults. Whether it was a tree, a bug, or a HUMAN BABY. You were once a human baby, I think. Although it’s difficult to imagine that smug face with donut remnants on the side of your lip and a strategically placed mole once being a cute bumbling toddler, rather than Regan straight out of the Exorcist circa 1973.
- This baby you hate, she’s going to pay your social security one day so you can live in a nursing home with an underpaid nurse wiping your butt. In fact, you should be thanking this evil, fussing, somewhat stinky kid. Her tax dollars will go to cover your miserable existence one day. I already feel sorry for that nurse.
- Judging me with your bangs straight out of a Paula Abdul video and cropped t-shirt in the dead of winter seems a bit counterintuitive, don’t you think? Especially on a middle aged woman. Clearly, there’s been a blue-light special on crop-tops at your local bargain basement. Quick, someone call Rachel Zoe. Clean up on isle 9!
- No, I don’t need a parenting lesson at 30,000 feet. Especially after you’ve revealed you don’t have children. That’s akin to asking my friend who once saw a dentist to fill a cavity for me or getting medical advice from the internet. Had I needed a lesson in parenting, I would sooner have called Courtney Love.
- Yes, I’m silently sitting here grateful you didn’t procreate. As a pay-it-forward, I am donating $50 in your name to the SPCA.
- This is also super-fun for me too. I have a fussing child on my lap, who can’t be soothed by one thing I brought for her. Does this suck for me too? Yup. I want to reach over and give you shaken-baby-syndrome though. My child has an excuse: she’s a BABY. You, however, have no excuse.
- Lovely, you’ve spilled over onto my seat. I’m plastered against the sidewall of the plane. I’ve put the armrest down 2 times, only to be told “that isn’t comfortable for me dammit”. The armrests exist for a reason, to divide the seats so one person isn’t forced to give up a third of their seat. And yet, it’s happening. Nightmare realized.
- I doubt my baby having fussed 8, whoops make that 9, times now will impact your entire vacation as you claim. You seem to think it’s going to ruin the next 6 days of your life. I wonder if a pap smear ruined 2005 for you altogether?
Baby haters beware: Moms on flights do all they can to keep their kids quiet. All 9B’s were babies once too and on a plane, with a new mom, who also struggled. A quick smile, a nod or even keeping your mouth shut can go a long way. Moms everywhere thank you for your patience. We’re busy raising future taxpayers.
Note: the airline issued an apology letter, bumped us to first class and gave me $150 to use towards another flight.
- Shelby Van Voris