Babies + Aeroplanes = WAAAAAH

(PHOTO: Anna Brett)
It’s a terrible fact of human biology: we love babies. Take, for example, the fact that our brains light up in the happy happy centers when we see a baby face. I mean it’s like totally pre-programmed. Why do you think we like and help baby-faced people? And adore humongous-eyed cartoon characters?

So we all love to look at babies and babyish stuff. Wicked. But what about the ingrained, autonomic response to hearing a baby scream its little purple head off? When I hear a kid start to wail it’s like someone has given an intravenous shot of psychotic angriness. I go nuts. I can’t concentrate, can’t hear anything other than the insufferable squeals (of delight, pain or anything really) emanating from the tot.

And no where is this reaction stronger than on some form of public transportation. Having endured nine hours of air travel with one blond squawker followed by 45 minutes of subway travel with another, I am pretty much done for. I mean drug them, hide them in the bathroom, stuff them in the overhead bins, I don’t care, just keep it away. Or at least have the courtesy to bring it over and let me have look and maybe a snuggle. Or I guess I could finally learn to frickin’ meditate already. Yeah.  Or I could just buy some earplugs.