It’s official: my eight-month old has her act together way more than I.
I realized this on our flight to Africa – the world’s second longest commercial flight (really?! Who takes a baby on that?). In the midst of my restless leg syndrome meltdown, I noticed that my baby was the calm, cool, business class flier I was not. I am thoroughly economy grade. While I complained to my much taller, bigger and justifiably more uncomfortable husband that sociopaths must have designed the seating layout, our daughter was the picture of confidence and poise. When I rolled my eyes at the “nervous flier” behind us who screamed during turbulence (and maybe even said “Snakes!” under my breath just to stir the pot, Julia offered a glance of sympathy.