The Village

I was recently surprised to learn that I had lost my desire to move back to New York. As recently as a few months ago, when people would ask me whether I envisioned myself staying in California forever, I used to respond with “Probably, because I don’t think I can convince my husband to live anywhere else.” Now I pause, because the answer is that I can’t quite imagine living anywhere else.

When and how did this drastic shift occur? I left New York when I was 18 years old. To be honest, I was thrilled to do so. I lived in the suburbs outside of NYC, had moved during my freshman year of high school (NOT a good situation), and was excited to “discover the world”. I floated around New England for college and medical school, and spent a requisite year living and working in NYC. When it was time for residency selection, my husband (also an East Coaster) and I were adamant that we needed to get out of the cold. He wanted to work in California and I was game to live in California and so I applied and was accepted.

We flew to the West Coast with one suitcase. (I can imagine myself telling this story to my children one day, at which point they’ll roll their eyes at this particular sentence.) We had less than $5,000 combined in our bank accounts. My husband was unemployed (“between jobs”) and I was days shy of starting my intern year. We rented a small unit in a house of four units total and decked it out in IKEA furniture. My husband bought a Samsung flat screen TV which we still own 8 years later. We weren’t married yet but reasoned that we needed to move in together because the rent was too expensive to swing two apartments. When he proposed to me, the engagement ring was the most expensive thing we owned. We didn’t have much but we were so happy.

In the past 8 years, we’ve spent 5 of them living together (we were apart for 3 years while I completed my residency), got jobs, got married, bought a house, tucked away money for retirement, had 3 kids, tucked away money for college education, and created the life we always wanted – one we could have never quite imagined when we landed in California in 2010.

Yet there were bumps in the road. I started my first job out of residency in 2014 and had a baby 3 months later. I’ve had 2 additional children since. I had no idea how difficult it would be to raise a family away from our families. It often felt impossible. I vividly remember those first colic-filled weeks with our oldest. We had help for a few of them but were on our own most of the time and I cried constantly. When I went back to work I was convinced there was no way I could juggle motherhood and my career without help. Most of our acquaintances at the time were my husband’s friends and, although mostly good people, they just weren’t my people. Is that a terrible thing to say? I hope not. You know that feeling when you just click with someone? When you can tell them anything – lay all your cards on the table, be completely vulnerable – and they will accept you wholeheartedly? Let’s just say I didn’t get that vibe from his people. And that’s what I struggled with the most – not having someone I could text frantically when our first was up at all hours of the night, not having someone I could ask to watch him for an hour while I took a breather, not having a tribe to commiserate with.

So I put myself out there. I met a group of women I now call “The Mommies”. My first mom friends! Now, the group has changed dramatically these past 4 years as moms move away and group dynamics shift, but we have each other’s backs, an ongoing calendar of events, never-ending birthday parties, and most importantly the knowledge that we have known each other since our little ones were just months old. I rekindled friendships with people from my intern year and became closer to co-workers with young children. I met more moms through preschool and subsequent “new mom” groups as more children joined our family. We acquired a network of people who have helped us out in some capacity around the house – gardeners, painters, nannies, cleaning crews, etc. Today, our nanny saw that I was clearing out our shed for some upcoming work and (unsolicited) called her husband to see if he would be willing to pick up all of the items we were throwing out to save us the hassle. He came by an hour later and I was so happy I could have cried. With such distance between ourselves and our families, these random acts of kindness mean everything.

I also have to admit that there are serious perks to living in California: great weather, tons of diversity, generally liberal politics. It’s also true that we both love our jobs and our house. But the game-changer for me was truly the evolution of our community and little village. We’ll see how we feel as the kids get older and schedules become more demanding but, for now, I am truly loving where we live, and this is the first time since 2014 that I’ve been truly able to say that.

Nervous Nellie

I’ve had anxiety most (if not all) of my life. Some of my earliest memories are anxiety-laden:

  • sitting in my father’s car while he was outside talking to my uncle, feeling worried about being alone in the car
  • in elementary school, feeling worried about a state project due in May…during the month of December
  • the night before I turned 10, feeling intense worry that I would never be 9 years old again

I could go on and on.

There were times in my life when my worry worsened. A few weeks to months each year during my childhood when I would be exponentially worried – we began to call these episodes “La Etapa” (a stage of my life). I remember the worry intensifying in high school. I moved to a new school district during my freshman year and I would feel intense dread in the morning when people loitered by their lockers since I didn’t (really) know anyone. I remember hiding in the bathroom during this time, as this was preferable to socializing. I experienced intense anxiety during freshman year of college- fear of meeting new people/would I fit in/etc. I drank too much and gained a ton of weight which only made things worse. My anxiety worsened in medical school, especially on rotations where I had less control over my schedule/time. One way of dealing with my anxiety was through food restriction and overexercising – I could have control over one area of my life, even when everything else was in disarray. I started dieting in high school, so that need has been there for a long time.

I did speak to a few people during these years. In college, someone tipped off a counselor that I may have an eating disorder, and so I started seeing her. She would weigh me facing backyards so that I couldn’t see how much I weighed. I lost more weight when I stopped weighing myself because I was afraid of gaining weight, so clearly the anxiety was still there. I then met with a psychiatrist in medical school, during my surgical rotation, because I was incredibly moody and would break down over the smallest things. I remember running to the first appointment so that I wouldn’t miss my workout that day. He started me on Celexa. I took this for a few weeks, maybe 1-3 months max? My husband (boyfriend at the time) thought it helped, but I wasn’t so sure and stopped shortly after starting. The third time I reached out to get help was when I was struggling with infertility due to hypothalamic amenorrhea. I met with a therapist a few times near my residency program, pretty much crying the entire time through those sessions. That also did not last long.

Why did I “quit” so many times? Probably because I have pretty high-functioning anxiety. It never stopped me from accomplishing my goals or having (mostly) healthy relationships. It’s an ever present background hum, but in many ways it has driven me to succeed. I excelled in school, attended an Ivy League college, graduated medical school and matched into a competitive residency. In other words, even though I personally suffered, my goals did not. I was still able to interact normally with others, connect with/take great care of my patients, and perform daily activities with little interference. However, I have recently started wondering whether things could actually be better. For years, I thought being thin had led me to succeed. Part of the fear of gaining weight was that I would lose everything I had worked for. This was obviously a lie I had been telling myself and the world did not end when I gained weight. And so I started thinking: what if life could actually be better with my anxiety under better control? What would it be like to live in the moment, to not have the ever present buzz of worry, to not feel imminent doom over every little thing?

The other tipping point was this: my 4 year old has started to show signs of anxiety and it is heart-breaking. Yes, it could be hereditary. My whole family deals with anxiety, so maybe it would have been passed on anyway. But I also wonder whether an anxious milieu of the womb or anxious parenting (my husband, too, would factor in here; although normally a very calm person, he is quite an anxious parent) had any effect. I feel intense guilt over this. Although I can’t change anything I’ve done, at the very least I can do my very best to control my anxiety as my kids begin to grow and understand more.

Finally, I think it will be good for my marriage. My husband and I love each other dearly, but our differing personalities (mine characterized by anxiety) have definitely led to some repetitive arguments.

And so I scheduled an appointment with a psychiatrist specializing in women’s health, particularly around birth and motherhood. I met with her last week and she agreed I had generalized anxiety disorder and recommended three pillars of treatment:

  1. Medication
  2. Psychotherapy
  3. Self care

She said we could do any combination, so I am started with medication and trying to incorporate self care into my life. I opted for medication because, if I am truly honest with myself, I am dog-tired. I’m tired of always worrying about everything, of making to-do list after to-do list, of constantly playing out scenarios in my head. It is absolutely exhausting. And I want to get better as fast as possible. My father, a psychiatrist, always said that medication could be incredibly helpful to patients, to normalize their brain chemistry while they utilized psychotherapy to change their thought patterns. I picked up Zoloft right after the appointment and felt a huge sense of relief as I swallowed it. Obviously all of my feelings were still there, but I was relieved to finally be doing something about it.

I am holding off on psychotherapy for now because of the time commitment, but I am trying to do some self care. My family is in town this weekend so it’s a wonderful opportunity. I am taking the time to write this, and I also scheduled a couples massage for this evening. In the past week I’ve made time for mom/baby yoga and a stroller workout class.

And so I am trying and hoping for the very best outcome here.

To have and to hold

I love weddings. It is so magical to watch people embark on their “happily ever after”. When I was single, weddings gave me hope that I would find the love of my life. When I was newly married, weddings were a joyous occasion with the knowledge that these newlyweds were as happy as we were. Now, more than half a decade into our marriage and brimming with children, weddings are a reminder of those exciting honeymoon days of a marriage. I love my husband dearly but I have to confess that marriage is very different with children than without children.

As a newlywed, my husband could do no wrong. His quirks were endearing, and I’m sure he felt the same way about mine. Now, after a full day of chasing after my toddlers and feeding/changing/rocking my baby, one of my husband’s quirks can quickly send me over the edge. After a full day with all three boys, my cup is empty, and I often feel like I have nothing to give to my husband. He too seems to need some time to unwind after the kids fall asleep. Don’t get me wrong – we love each other more than we did as newlyweds, but we have found that we need to be more intentional about conveying that love. We also need to take a step back to truly see and acknowledge one another. Most parents find that they have less time for self care once they have children and the same is true of spouse care!

When we argue, one of us may break the ice by bringing up two of the tricks we learned at our Catholic Engaged Encounter weekend, prior to our wedding. Both have always made us laugh. The first is to hold hands while arguing. If you try this, you’ll quickly learn that it is impossible to truly be angry at someone if you are holding their hands. The second is to consider whether your words are “life-giving”. If they are not, consider how they sound to the person hearing them.

We haven’t mastered the art of making time for each other since this last child was born (9 weeks ago). This is partly due to the fact that we live far away from family, but mostly due to the fact that we are exhausted. For now, we are focusing on not being short with one another, spending time together after the kids go to bed, finding joy in the mayhem, and allowing the other parent to rest when one of us feels more energized. This is about as “life-giving” as we can manage to be at the moment.

Chaos coordinator

I’m 3 weeks into having three children (one day I’ll get around to sharing the birth story, but for now I’ll just say: the baby was not born in the car and I was able to get an epidural, which is seriously the best medical innovation to date) and it is absolute chaos.

Let’s discuss some of the ridiculous things that have happened since bringing our baby home:

  • Our middle child, Y, bit new baby’s Z finger when he was only a few days old. Seriously kid!? Fortunately Z was okay, but it was a clear sign that Y was not going to warm up to him easily. We’ve since made sure that Y has a bit more one-on-one time with everyone, and we continue to call him our baby. He has since only given him lots of kisses, so perhaps our approach is working.
  • Z was not sleeping at all the first few days (and, truth be told, is not sleeping great now, but I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt since he’s still a newborn). I should clarify: he would sleep just fine as long as he nursed the whole time and/or I held him. We ended up hiring a night nanny, who came highly recommended by two friends. We had her spend 3 weekend nights with us so we could be as well-rested as possible for the big kids during the day. It was incredibly helpful (even though I still had to wake up every 2-3 hours to feed the baby), but on the third night we caught her catching a snooze with our baby on the couch next to her! As my husband would say: “Seriously!? You have one job.” So we don’t have a night nanny anymore. But Z is cooperating and starting to sleep a bit at night. We can usually get one or two 2-2.5 hr stretches. I believe there was one night when we got two 3 hr stretches. Glorious!
  • I took Z out with me to a store the other day, when he was 2 wks old. I’ve been trying to lay low and not exert myself too much (also trying to keep Z away from germs), but I have unfortunately had a few time-sensitive errands to run. On this particular day, Z bawled his eyes out in the car (his M.O.). After we parked, I was trying to load up the stroller quickly so that I could pick up the wailing newborn. I thought I had closed our SUV’s trunk, and didn’t see that it had ricocheted back to half-open due to an umbrella stroller wheel sticking out the back. Unfortunately, I wasn’t looking up when I walked behind the car again and I ran straight into the side of trunk door. It was a pretty good blow, but when I touched my hand to my head to feel it, I was still surprised to see my hand coated with blood. OMG. My husband was at work, my mom was at home with Y, and I was bleeding from my head in the middle of a parking lot 30 minutes from home, with a wailing newborn still buckled into his carseat in the car. The whole thing was ridiculous. I ended up keeping my appointment at the store (I’m sure the woman working there thought I was insane coming in with a newborn with a blood-soaked Kleenex pressed against my head, asking whether I could use their bathroom to clean out my wound). I called one of my surgical colleagues right away and asked whether she had time to squeeze me in that day because I was pretty sure I needed stitches. And that’s how my quick errand turning into an afternoon spent in my clinic getting stitches. Silver lining: at least this happened on my scalp, where the scar will be hidden by my hair, and not on my forehead!
  • Negotiating 3 sleep schedules has been tough. As I mentioned, Z is not sleeping great. X has woken up really early a few days (e.g. 5:30am). I wouldn’t care if he could just sit quietly in bed, but he usually uses the restroom and calls someone to wipe him (so that’s one adult who needs to wake up) and then he goes back into his room, usually noisily, and wakes up Y (since they are now sharing a room). I also wouldn’t care about this if Y was a morning person, but he likes to sleep in, so this automatically makes for a cranky pants morning. Y still takes long naps (3 hours) so we pick him up after a half day of “preschool” and let him snooze at home. Honestly, it would be much easier to have him stay at school all day as opposed to driving to this school three times per day (drop-off for both kids, pick-up for Y mid-day, pick-up for X end of day), but the times we’ve tried a full day of school (including today) have been an absolute disaster. Y is a zombie and in a TERRIBLE mood, so it’s honestly more miserable than taking an extra drive mid-day. Just a few nights ago, I had finally settled Z out of my arms and into the Rock ‘N Play. Then, all of a sudden, I hear crying coming from X&Y’s room (it’s around 9:30pm so this shouldn’t be happening since they had fallen asleep some time before). I check out the Nest Cam and see that Y is standing up in his crib bawling. Oh no. If he wakes up X, we’re going to have a problem. And why is he up crying!? I rush into the room to make sure he doesn’t have a dirty diaper or a fever. Negative on both counts. I carry him out of the room to comfort him and then tell him calmly that he’s going to have to sleep in his crib tonight. That doesn’t go over very well. Ultimately, I let him cry it out in his crib and spend the whole time praying that X doesn’t wake up. By some miracle, he does not, and Y settles to sleep after a few minutes. And, of course, Z wakes up just a bit after that.
  • Family outings are a nightmare. I’m serious! It takes forever for us to get out of the house and we seriously need a rolling suitcase as opposed to a diaper bag whenever we leave. My mom has been in town, so right now we have a 1 adult to 1 child ratio. However, when she leaves, we are going to be in big trouble! X and Y always seem to dart in different directions. Z has blowouts literally only when we are out somewhere! And without fail someone will throw a tantrum.

In sum, things are crazy. I feel like I am barely surviving when all 3 kids are home. That being said, I would choose to have a third child a million times over. I love the chaos and would honestly love a fourth child (crazy, right? Pretty sure there’s no way to convince my husband that this would be a good idea). I also know that these days are fleeting. In just a blink they’ll be teenagers, looking for ways to escape into their rooms. So I’ll enjoy the endless cuddles, each boy vying for mom’s attentions. And I’ll even take the tantrums, tears, and sibling rivalry.

36 weeks + 1 day

Almost to the finish line and I have so many mixed feelings about this:

  1. Incredulity – I can’t believe this pregnancy is almost over – where did the time go!?
  2. Panic – How are we ever going to complete our to-do list before the due date? I have so many things I want to accomplish before the baby gets here. Some minor home improvement projects, wrapping up everything at work (I am so behind – it seems insurmountable!)
  3. Anxiety – Labor is not the most pleasant experience so I can’t say I’m necessarily looking forward to that part! We also almost didn’t make it to the hospital when my second was born, so I’ve been thinking about scheduling an induction this time around. I do prefer to go into labor without intervention, but didn’t love how chaotic things felt with my last delivery.
  4. Exhaustion – I’ve been staying up late to get things done and work has been super hectic because patients keep calling to make an appointment before I go. I feel guilty leaving them for so many months (although have amazing colleagues who will see them while I’m out) and keep saying yes, even though the days are long. Also, my belly is getting heavy and being on my feet during the day is exhausting!
  5. Worry – Will baby be healthy? Will my older kids be alright with the new addition? How will we handle the sleep deprivation? What if this baby also has colic (like my first)?
  6. Sadness .- This may very well be my last pregnancy (definitely will be, according to my husband!). I know I’ve been incredibly blessed to be pregnant 3 times (especially after my fertility struggles the first time around), but it does make it sad to think about closing the door on my childbearing years.
  7. Excitement – Another newborn! I can’t wait to see and hold him. I wonder what he will look like. I had a growth ultrasound yesterday (still being monitored because of the false negative toxoplasmosis result) and they estimated that he was 6 lbs 9 oz. I couldn’t believe it! That’s like a real baby! He was so cramped in there – space is certainly getting tight.

In other news, our (current) littlest guy started preschool 2 weeks ago. It was ROUGH in the beginning. He had a tough time adjusting. As it happened, he wasn’t able to attend the first 3 days we had enrolled him because he woke up sick on the first day of school! We couldn’t believe it. This kid has been the healthiest since birth (despite a germ-y older brother), but of course he had to wake up with a fever on his first day. Fortunately, our nanny was available to help us out. However, she had other plans the last two days of the week, and my husband and I had to work, so we threw him right into the deep end – he stayed for the whole day those first two days! He was always so tired when we picked him up. And he cried…a LOT.

So the following week, we decided to stick with the half-day schedule. I wasn’t sure how this would fly with my oldest (they are at the same school but different classes, so I didn’t know if he would be confused/upset if his brother was picked up earlier), but he did great. We told him his little brother couldn’t stay the whole day yet because he was too small, even though he really wanted to. Drop-offs were still tough that first half of the week (he even angrily hit a teacher one morning after I left!), but he soon began to adjust to the schedule, and started to cry less and less at drop off.

This Monday, the sweetest thing happened. He clung to me like he always does when we arrived at school. But when I told him that it was time for me to go and that he should stay with his brother (they have a joint playtime in the morning while all the kids arrive), he took a few steps towards his big brother with tears welling up in his eyes, held his hand, and tried his best to look brave. He turned around to look at me when I left, but he didn’t bawl for the first time! And since then, it has only continued to improve. Today, he walked away from ME when I dropped him off, and happily took a spot next to his brother on his yoga mat.

Overall, he’s adjusting REALLY well and I am so happy this happened before the new baby comes to town. They’ll have their summer break soon, and then we’ll need to decide whether it’s time to enroll him in the full day schedule!

Here are a few books I found useful to prepare your little ones to start preschool. Both kids really loved these books during their transition periods, and I think they very plainly lay out the emotions kids may experience when leaving their parents for the first time.

How I do it

I can’t get into Instagram. Like other social media platforms, I follow a handful of friends, family, and acquaintances and post very sparingly. I don’t post a lot because I’m fairly paranoid about privacy (all I can say is: thank goodness it did not exist when I was in high school – I would be mortified to have those memories immortalized) and I honestly just don’t have time for it. I’m constantly in awe of people who capture and share so much of their lives. How do they manage to do it? I have no idea.

I worry about young women following certain “influencers” (what does that even MEAN!?) who post regularly on working motherhood, work-life balance, etc.  These influencers leave out so many important details of their lives when they post. They talk about being imperfect but then always post “perfect” photos. I couldn’t believe it when I learned that some people hire photographers to take their pictures! What happened to authenticity!? How can these people write about “keeping it real” when someone’s following them around with a camera? I’d love to see more influencers post while wearing yoga pants (not actually used for exercise, mind you) with their unwashed hair pulled up into a tight bun because they haven’t been able to escape for 15 minutes to take a shower in 3 days.

These influencers also rarely address the role of privilege in their lives. Did they come from money? What role do their husbands play in their financial success? Have they faced any hardships? What does “hustling” mean in the context of not really having to work?

I would be a terrible Instagram influencer because I don’t sugarcoat things. I am very upfront when I give advice to young women who ask me about work-life balance. So I’m writing this post today to share the authentic side of working motherhood, how I’ve been able to balance both aspects of my life, and how I’ve learned to be at peace with my decision.

1. How I decided to keep working full-time after my first child was born: I actually didn’t have a choice.* This is not a glamorous answer, but it’s the truth. My husband supported us through medical school (full disclosure: my parents also supported me quite a bit through medical school, before my husband and I were married) and residency. Once I graduated and had a real job that brought in actual income (sorry residents!), it was my turn to support our family while my husband started his own company. I came home from the hospital after my son was born and announced that I never wanted to go back to work (I loved my job and still love my job, but those postpartum hormones and attachment to your newborn are strong forces!). My husband, who is very loving and supportive, looked at me and said that wasn’t an option. Ultimately, he was right. We had a mortgage, lived in a high-cost of living area, and both had to hustle to set our family up for success, because we were not about to inherit millions of dollars any time soon (or ever, having both come from humble backgrounds). So 4 months later, I went back to work.

I vividly remember new moms I met during maternity leave saying things like: “I can’t imagine going back to work and leaving my baby with a stranger”, “babies need their mothers”, etc. and feeling so incredibly hurt. I never once congratulated myself in front of them for going back to work, or made any arguments as to why working motherhood was “better” (is there a better? I don’t think so – I truly believe every parent tries to do their best within their means). Although I was hurt at the time, I think they were trying to rationalize their own choices, and I don’t fault them for it. I now have almost 4 years of perspective to see how that decision has impacted their relationships and careers, and I also see that our kids don’t differ in any appreciable ways, despite mine having had >1 caregiver. So the first thing I tell young women is this: you have to do what’s best for you and your family. How much choice you have in the matter will depend on many personal circumstances, but you can never go wrong if you love your child and try your best. And don’t listen to anyone who tries to tell you there’s only one right way to do things – they are trying to convince themselves, not help you. 

2. How I “do it all”: Today, a weekday, I organized a play date with a close friend and her kids. I ran errands, prepared dinner for everyone, read a story to my son’s preschool class, and spent some time calling patients with results, speaking with other doctors about complex cases, and working on administrative projects. My friend sent me a text saying “Wow – super mom! You crushed it today!”. Yes, I was pretty productive, but I also have a lot of privilege and extra help, so it’s really not that impressive.

First of all, I have a very rewarding and flexible job. I love what I do and who I work with, I have great benefits, I have a lot of autonomy, and I have the opportunity to do some work from home. I’m not in the hospital taking 24 hour call and I’m not working a dull, minimum-wage job. So how did I get here? Well, I have always been driven, but I also had parents whose main goal was to set me up for success. They were present, supportive, loving, and sacrificed their own livelihood to put me first. This allowed me to focus on my education, to attend an Ivy League college, and to ultimately graduate from medical school and enter into a competitive specialty. I worked hard, but I also won the lottery by being born into an amazing family, and also encountered a lot of luck along the way. There are many bright and promising people who are not so lucky, or whose lives are transformed by tragedy. Second of all, I have an amazing husband. He is very affectionate, closely involved with the kids, does groceries 90% of the time, and cooks pretty much every night (my cooking tonight was indeed an anomaly). He has also been very successful in his career, and this has set a solid financial foundation for our family. I truly won the husband jackpot. Finally, we can afford to hire help. We have our oldest in a nurturing, full-time preschool (and his brother will join him in a few weeks) and we also have a full-time nanny. Without family in the area, I can’t imagine doing this without our nanny. She has been a true lifesaver, taking great care of our kids, tidying up our home, doing our laundry – I could go on and on. And because our jobs are flexible, we don’t utilize our childcare resources to the max, so we are still able to be their primary caregivers.

Now, there are certainly many people who are much better off than we are, and our arrangement may also not work for everyone. But the advice I usually give is this: split the household responsibilities with your spouse. If you can afford it, outsource household work you don’t enjoy or find fulfilling (e.g. washing dishes, cooking, etc.). If you can’t afford it or can but wish to reach financial independence more quickly, figure out what you can do without. Can you ignore the laundry piling up for a few days? Can you leave dishes in your sink? In sum: try not to sweat the small stuff so that you can focus on what you truly love, which for most people is spending quality time with their kids. Doing it all is really just a matter of how much you put on your list. Put less on your list and you’ll automatically do much more!

In sum: I don’t think my situation is all that impressive. I continued working because I had to (but 4 years later am so incredibly happy that I did, because I truly do believe I have the best of both worlds now) and I “do it all” because I was privileged enough to have been set up for success and I can outsource some household tasks and afford quality childcare. And this is precisely why I would have a terrible public Instagram account – the truth is not very awe-inspiring, but I do think it’s important for young women to hear it so they are not discouraged by “perfect” lives on social media.

*In truth, there were things we could have done to make my staying at home feasible. My husband could have stayed at his well-compensated job, we could have moved to a lower cost-of-living area, we could have relocated closer to family. Ultimately, however, we chose to remain on this trajectory because we liked where we lived, I had a great job, and my husband had a lot of opportunity with his new endeavor. It was not an easy decision, and I shed a lot of tears, but I don’t regret making this decision.

 

A-holes on airplanes

My kids were much better behaved on our trip back and we had a much better flight with an extra set of hands (thanks to my husband who flew out just to fly us home). I should mention that the flight ended with my oldest projectile vomiting, which was not, as I assumed at the time, motion sickness, but was actually a horrible GI bug that he is still grappling with and that I am desperately hoping no one else in our home contracts. But that’s a story for another day, because first I’d like to talk about a-holes on airplanes.

I have flown a ton with my kids in the past 3.5 years. I have been fortunate to encounter nothing but gracious people, who have tolerated some tears, tantrums, and other infant/toddler behavior on our flights. The kids are actually great travelers, and I think this is part of the reason we have never encountered animosity on airplanes – they don’t scream/shriek the entire time, they are not rude, and obviously they are incredibly cute and win everyone over (biased mom here). Part of the reason we get a lot of sympathy is also that my husband and I always come equipped to entertain them, and we hustle the entire flight to keep them as calm as possible. We don’t let them run around willy-nilly, we are mindful of how their movements and noises affect surrounding passengers, and we try to have new/engaging/interesting items on hand to pique their interest.

However, we did meet our first disgruntled passenger on this week’s flight. We boarded the airplane first, and barely noticed an overweight, older gentleman board a few minutes later. He was seated two rows in front of us. Because we had boarded so early and the majority of seats were empty/passengers were still getting situated, I let my youngest sit on my oldest, start hugging, and begin to play as I set up our seats (safety harnesses, waters, books, wipes, etc). They were basically hugging and making noises. My youngest was saying things so that my oldest would copy him, and they were having a blast. Cue grumpy old man: “I’m sorry, but that is unacceptable behavior.”

I was taken aback – was this man talking to me? It sure looked like he was staring in my direction, but what could be unacceptable behavior? Well, never fear, he proceeded to explain: “It is unacceptable for you to let them hug and yell and cause a commotion for everyone.” First of all, the cabin wasn’t even 25% full. Second of all, who gets angry at playing toddlers who are literally just sitting in their seats!? We hadn’t even been on the airplane for five minutes! If this guy was already annoyed, he was definitely in for a treat during the 5+ hour haul.

I was honestly speechless. I was also slightly embarrassed (was I an oblivious parent? Had my kids actually been loud/obnoxious and not cute/endearing?) and wanted to stay calm for my kids. I was also worried that he would start cursing in front of the kids or become otherwise belligerent. And I didn’t think there was much point in arguing with someone who would yell at a pregnant lady traveling with 2 toddlers – what were the chances he would honestly empathize? Plus you see all of these viral videos these days of families getting kicked off flights for the smallest things, and I did not want any trouble on this flight. My husband, who was sitting across the aisle from us, had zero of these reservations.

He got into it with this man, telling him not to talk to me like that, asking if he had ever flown with children, and on and on. The grumpy old man yelled something back about common courtesy/being nice and I pretty much zoned out and tried to distract my kids, while simultaneously asking my husband to calm down. It was an ugly scene and I was not in the mood for confrontation.

I felt pretty crappy the rest of the flight. We worked as hard as we usually do to keep the kids calm, but it felt different – like we were somehow acquiescing to his demands. I was grateful that both of them napped and were generally in stellar moods. I also felt very grateful to have my husband there. I don’t know how the scene would have played out if I were solo, except that perhaps more passengers would have come to my immediate defense. A few gave us smiles of solidarity after it happened, told us the grumpy old man passenger was a jerk after the flight landed, and also commended us for having well-behaved kids. We were grateful to those people for their small acts of kindness. And a special thank you to the passengers across the aisle from us who handed me a barf bag when they saw my oldest vomiting and me searching frantically for something to contain it.

And if you find yourself on an airplane with parents who have young kids, try to have some empathy. I get it – you paid for your flight, you’re tired, you want to sleep/read/watch a movie/etc. But guess what? It’s not a private jet. Most (I can’t speak for all) parents are trying their best to keep their kids contained and respectful, but kids aren’t robots. These families have also paid money for their seats – in our case, we purchased four of them – and have the right to talk, walk around within reason when the seatbelt sign is off, and so on. And no matter how little you think you’re relaxing by the kids being in your mere presence, the parents are relaxing 100% less trying to entertain them. Moral of the story is: try not to be an a-hole on airplanes. After all, isn’t that what common courtesy is all about?