Let me preface this by saying that I am not a baby-hater. Former baby-killer, according to some, but that’s neither here nor there.

But seriously. I like babies. I think they’re cute. So why do some babies have to go and ruin it for the rest of them? Why do some babies have to go and sit behind you, on a non-stop flight from LA to Boston and scream bloody murder for five unbelievable straight hours?

It’s soul-sucking, people. Because you know why? I really don’t want to be that bitch who turns around and glares at the mom. I don’t want to do it! You hear over and over how haaaard it is to take babies on flights, and how heeeartless fellow passengers can be when they give the stink-eye to those poor, sleep-deprived, yet saintly young mothers, tasked with the oh-so-taxing job of traveling with their own offspring. Right - as if it were MY idea for you to bring your damn kid on the airplane. But anyway, it makes me feel like a bitch to turn around and stare down a mom with a crying kid, like I can feel the bitter wrinkles embed themselves a little bit deeper into my forehead with each glare.

But the thing is, after you ignore it for about three of those five hours, the only other option is to be that OTHER woman. The woman that everyone wants and expects you to be - you know, the one who turns around, and offers that look that says, “oh, how cute, and how hard this must be for you!” Who waves at the baby while exchanging knowing sitcom-y glances with the poor, haggard mom.

Really, you want to know how I feel about the whole thing? I feel like, shut your baby up or I fear I will try to do it for you. I feel like, do you want to borrow this NyQuil that I have stashed in my purse? Cause I’d like to lend it to you. I feel like, how about you go ahead and pass that little fucker off to DADDY, since that’s who the kid is hollering for.

There. I said it. Apparently my maternal instinct will apply only to my own offspring. And you know what? I’m fine with that.