My baby, usually calm and quiet, was irritated that day — maybe because of the pressure, the noise, or simply tiredness. He cried often, couldn’t sleep, and I held on with all my strength not to cry along with him.
When the flight attendant brought the meal, I couldn’t even think about eating properly. The baby was in my arms the whole time — feeding, diaper changes, attempts to soothe him to sleep.
This is my routine. I’m not complaining. But this time, a man in a suit sat next to me — it was clear he was traveling on important business. He looked tired, irritated, sighed heavily, gave us sideways glances, and muttered to himself. I felt worse and worse. I couldn’t even look at him without feeling guilty. I knew he was barely holding back from yelling at me.
— Give me the baby. I’ll hold him, and you try to get some sleep.
I was stunned.
— Sorry, thank you, it’s not necessary… Sorry for disturbing you…
— It’s okay, — he said. — I’m a doctor. A pediatrician. I have two at home. I know how it is. Flying is stressful, especially for such little babies. Come on, don’t be afraid.
I carefully handed him my son. The man held him confidently and calmly. And the baby — for the first time in a long while — stopped crying and peacefully fell asleep in his arms.
I closed my eyes and slept for almost an hour. It was the best hour of my day.
We hardly spoke after that. But when the plane began to descend, he gently handed my son back to me and said:
— You are a very strong mother. Never doubt that.
And I will remember those words for a long time.
