Baby On Board

How great would it be to have the ability to explain yourself to the world with a T-shirt? I’m sure there’s a market for an “Insecure-trying-to-lose-the-baby-weight” T- shirt. Or how about a “My-dog-just-died-cut-me-some-slack” shirt? I’d certainly buy the “My-disorganization-annoys-me-too,” shirt.

Brad and I have always made fun of those “Baby On Board” signs hanging from car windows. But then we experienced our first drive home from the hospital with Evan. To say Brad was a nervous wreck would be a gross understatement. He drove below the speed limit, used his turn signal vigilantly, and took those turns like he had a beach ball balanced on top of the car. Half way home Brad turned to me and said:

“Now is when I wish I had one of those stupid Baby On Board signs so everyone knows why I’m driving like such a douche.”

And just like that, those useless signs served a purpose.

Our first flight with Evan was a little like that first drive home. We wanted T-shirts with, “New Parent’s First Flight With Baby” printed in bright bold letters across the chest. I know how annoying crying babies are. Pre-parenthood I was the person offering very little sympathy to the parents or the crying baby. I’ve heard people on a plane say, “Oh, the poor thing, his ears must be plugged.” Not me. Up until now I’ve always been a resident of camp “If you can’t control your kid what are you doing here.” I know from personal experience the depth of hatred that can brew when you’re in an enclosed space 30,000 feet above ground and for the past couple of months I’ve been nervous about the combined hatred of 250 people focused on me and my child. My biggest fear? That I would have an entire plane wishing the cabin door would fly open and suck Evan and me out the door.

The day of the flight we packed extra bottles, his favorite toys, his favorite books, snacks, and as a last resort, baby Benadryl. We also made sure to dress Evan extra cute in case all efforts failed and we turned out to be that crying baby anyway. After all, it’s much harder to hate a cute crying baby than it is to hate a crusty unkempt screaming brat.

But all my worrying was wasted energy, Evan did great. His first plane ride was a success. He flirted with the flight attendants, danced in the isles, fed Cheerios to the therapy dog sitting behind us, and clapped his way from Seattle to Phoenix.