There are many things that are harder, different, more annoying, and/or difficult to do with a baby versus before there was a baby. Things you may have taken for granted in the before times, things that seemed simple and regular and you thought: I will always do these things without much thought because they are woven into the fabric of my life. Things like: Eat a meal at 7pm in a restaurant. See a movie. Write for several hours uninterrupted. Small amounts of recreational drugs (though not impossible from what I’m told). Spontaneous weekend trips with THE GIRLS (“girls trip”). Peeing alone. Flying on an airplane.
I’m happy to report that something being annoying or difficult hasn’t really deterred me from doing most of the above, especially peeing alone, which I try to do daily. Plus, it’s okay that some things are harder– that’s part of the whole agreement to have children, but also: life. Things are hard, and most of it’s temporary. Besides, there’s often a solution like babysitters for the 7pm dinner.
Last August, the three of us were planning a trip to Italy for my 40th birthday– Charlie was eight months old. To emotionally and logistically prepare for the long flight and red eye of it all, I talked with various parents, mined the mom WhatsApp chats, and generally sought advice from any person I knew who had traveled with a baby. I wanted tips, I wanted tricks, I wanted someone to tell me it was going to be fine, better than fine, worried for nothing, couldn’t be better.
The near unanimous response was actually just that: traveling with babies could be totally fine– great, even. I received encouraging replies of what to bring (snacks, spinny toys that suction to the window, different snacks, things to draw with and on, “busy books,” 49 hours of downloaded programming, other snacks), what activities to do (walk up and down the aisles, hide in the bathroom), signing off with a general “it might be bad, but then you’re there and you’ll forget and it’ll be great” attitude.
If you are thinking that maybe I hadn’t heard about the parents who hand out ziplock baggies of candy with a note written from baby's POV that explained it was their first flight and they were sorry in advance for the bother– I have. And I am in awe of them, I support them, I applaud the gesture and organization. But as I’m sure you might guess, I’m never doing all that.
Not because I don’t feel riddled with guilt from the potential inconvenience I’m already causing someone if my child makes a sound (don’t worry, that guilt, or some form of it, is already baked into us from the moment we become parents), but because A. I am disorganized/can barely make it to the airport on time as it is and B. While I do care about the other passengers' experience, I’m…simply not doing all that. Thankfully, even without the ziplock bags of miscellaneous candy, the general flying public has been more than kind and generous to us, New Family with Small Child.
There was the woman who entertained Charlie by peek-a-boo-ing at him nonstop for close to 45 minutes. The man who offered up his seat because he said that that side of the plane got darker and it might be easier for the baby to fall asleep. The gaggle of older women who came over to see if there was anything they could do when Charlie was writhing around his little blanket, inconsolable inside the PWM airport during the third hour of our delay. The pregnant woman with a 3-year-old at home who said she loved this newsletter (hi!) and wished me a smooth flight (it was!!). The countless flight attendants who went above and beyond to pretend they weren’t annoyed when my son kept accidentally ringing the call button (sorry again).
Then, more recently, on a red-eye flight to Amsterdam…there was the man in 7B*.
First, let me go on the record as saying regardless of its myriad inconveniences, frustrations and expenses, I consider flying to be a privilege, a modern miracle, a thing we are all lucky to be able to experience. One of my least favorite types of people is “person who tweets at airlines looking for justice.” Even in the worst of times, the most egregious of flight delays, I do have to believe everyone is doing their best. I also believe that sometimes, one's best might not be that good, things simply don’t break the way you want them to, or, things just suck and no $50 voucher or @delta complaint is going to change the circumstances, so everyone, just take a breath.
Second, because it’s relevant to the story, I’m going to mention we were in first class– it was a business trip and I was being flown out for work. I acknowledge this is a luxury, and not something we’ll likely ever do again once Charlie turns two and he requires his own seat (and ticket). Anyway, in spite of the excessive turbulence, broken screens flashing on and off for seven hours, no internet, and an extremely squirmy 17-month-old who simply loves to walk more than he loves anything in the whole world (that one’s on us), we made it. Charlie never had a full blown meltdown, Max and I only got in one whisper-fight (he was eating an ice cream sundae while Charlie was crawling over me and I found it insensitive), and thank god for the lie-down seats, because eventually, for about four hours, Charlie and I both fell asleep (spooning).
Back to the advice I got from other parents all those months ago: There was also another near unanimous response. That yes, traveling with babies could be totally fine– great, even. Unless…that baby is between approximately 15 and 22 months old. A forbidden eight month period of time where travel is above-average hellish.
These are the months they’re typically walking at full capacity with little to no coordination, mostly non-verbal but quite opinionated, and maybe not so interested in screens just yet. This no-fly zone is not a mandate, but simply a heads up that anecdotally, this was far and away the worst time to travel with a baby. BUT, as we all know, one person's hellish experience is another's smooth sailing, and nobody likes a “just wait”, my way of saying I did ignore this advice/rules don’t apply to me/I will subvert the norm, etc.
Cut to us flying to Amsterdam with a 17-month-old and I can confirm what they say is true! I’m not here to complain, I’m just here to say: WHAT THEY SAY IS TRUE. The peaceful sleeping baby of flights past was nowhere to be found, replaced by a spirited, at times inconsolable, hungry-but-doesn’t-want-what-you-have, call button-obsessed toddler (and we love him for it).
TLDR (and this is already too long); we begin to land, the baby wakes up, he hates it all. The lights, the turbulence, the lack of 14-hour sleep. I get it. He cries– not a violent infant scream-cry, but the sort of fake sob-cry of an exhausted toddler. Max picks him up to jostle him for comfort, swaying him back and forth in the aisle. Out of the corner of his eye, over this man's shoulder, he can see the man (approximately 55-65 years old) in 7B* asking Claude** a question, one for the ages:
“Should babies be allowed in first class?”
Where to start.
While in the throes of insecurity and shame, I have of course asked myself this very question. I’m not without introspection. That said, I’m not here to open the floor to the internet at large to debate if babies should be allowed in first class. I’m not strong enough for that. But here among the safe space of A Little Newsletter, I feel okay to say freely that both before and after children, my answer has held steady at: yes.
The way I see it, first class is a section of an airplane, which is something that we use to transport many people at once from one far away location to another. Like a concert or movie or sporting event, you buy a ticket which grants you a seat on this airplane, and sadly, you don’t get to pick who you’re sitting next to. If you choose to upgrade the basic experience when available (thus spending more money), you sometimes will get a seat for which to lie down and get offered a glass of sparkling wine at whatever time you board, and when you accept, receive zero judgement. First class is not a day spa, a place for which to melt away your troubles in silence while you sip upon cucumber-mint infused water or an adults-only hotel for you to cosplay having a salacious affair with your own wife to reignite the spark. Sadly, the price does not guarantee any passenger peace and/or quiet, though one can always hope. Just like every other section on that plane, there are no rules against people of a certain age listening to TikTok without headphones, businessmen having loud, personal conversations about divorce, or crying babies (I have experienced all three, and I’ll tell you a crying baby is the least annoying).
My usually conflict-averse husband was as upset as I’ve ever seen him and desperately wanted to say something, but I insisted on “muzzling him” (his words) because I figured a man of a certain age asking AI this sort of question was beyond the pale of reasoning– plus, I’m not sure what it would have wrought if not more conflict and I was not about to be “parents fighting with a man on a plane [first class]”.
Of course, one might argue that this is a nuanced topic, and there are points to be made on either side of the spectrum (that’s a lot of money to be annoyed by the sounds of a baby! Every person should strive to be considerate of others! We were all babies once!). But unlike an adult listening to TikTok at full volume without headphones or having a very loud (and frankly, juicy) conversation about divorce, a crying baby has little to no control over their actions, and 99% of the time, neither do their parents.
That aside, have we strayed so far from the light that we’re asking AI to manufacture our cognitive emotions? Don’t answer that, because the answer is yes.
Later this year, some of our dearest friends are getting married in France. I booked our trip a few months back, fantasizing about road tripping through France, Charlie wearing a petite striped shirt with a jaunty hat while slurping oysters by the sea, playing in the shallow, calm waters with no pants on. I’d take photos on my film camera, all of us making gorgeous, grainy, core memories.
The day after we got home from Amsterdam, I texted Max “what if we didn’t bring Charlie to France?” I know there’s nothing to feel embarrassed about, but even so, I felt deeply embarrassed that I was somehow no longer the parent who would and could bring their baby anywhere and everywhere with grace and ease. Had the man in 7B successfully shamed me into not bringing my baby on a European family vacation? No. The reality is, I think we’d all have a better time if he didn’t join on this particular trip. Is that okay to say?
As suggested by countless parents before me, flying with him right now is simply not a good time, for any of us. While I’d do anything for him, I’m not especially thrilled by the prospect of hanging out in the lavatory for 32 minutes while turning the faucet on and off repeatedly and cleaning it all up afterwards. He’s not interested in screens yet and is getting too big to sleep comfortably on or next to me in a seat. He’s squeaking and squawking which is music to my ears, but if one more person shoots me a dirty look at the sound of my beautiful angel son laughing, my spirit will break into too many pieces to recover. If we could avoid it, might we all agree to avoid it?
So– we’re avoiding it. We’re going alone, and we’ll be riddled with guilt but also have a great time. We’ll slurp oysters and drink wine and drive through France without our boy. Charlie will stay home with grandma and he can see his friends at music class and have access to every single toy and floppy blanket in the house, and everyone wins. Even the guy in 7B.
*not his real seat, though I doubt this will get back to him. I’m not sure he’s in my demographic.
**Claude did say that babies should be allowed in first class. When further prompted “if I find it especially disruptive, should I say something to the parents?” Claude replied “no” and prompted the user to explore empathy or compassion. But who needs that when there’s Claude?
Stay tuned for some Amsterdam recommendations (for adults and children) on the regular newsletter, early next week.