I Was Breastfeeding My 5-Month-Old Baby When the Woman Sitting Next to Me on the Plane Said, 'Lock Yourself in the Toilet' – Then My Older Daughter Put Her in Her Place
“How completely shameless.”
“People with babies like that should stay home."
Noah latched, and his crying softened.
My relief lasted only seconds.
“People with babies like that should stay home,” she continued. “What kind of mother feeds a child in public and can’t even calm him down on her own?”
I stared at her.
She recoiled as though my answer offended her more than the nursing.
“He is calm now because I’m feeding him.”
She recoiled as though my answer offended her more than the nursing.
“Then go lock yourself in the toilet. Why should I have to look at this shameful display?”
“A bathroom isn’t where babies eat,” I said. “And this is a six-hour flight. He cannot go without food.”
She reached for the call button.
“Mom, why don’t you take my seat?”
Before she could press it, Louise appeared beside us with her tablet against her chest.
“Mom, why don’t you take my seat? I can sit here so this lady feels more comfortable.”
“Louise, no.”
“It’s okay.”
The woman gave me a smug look, as though my daughter had finally supplied the proper parenting.
I should have stopped her, but Noah stirred again.
I stood carefully, keeping Noah covered. Louise slid into my seat.
As I passed her, she whispered, “She dropped something.”
“What?”
“I’ll show you later.”
I should have stopped her, but Noah stirred again.
Mark used to call it her courtroom face.
From the row ahead, I could see Louise’s sneakers beneath the seat and one small hand resting near the armrest. She had always watched people closely.
Mark used to call it her courtroom face because she narrowed her eyes whenever she believed someone was hiding the truth.
I wanted to tell her that protecting me was not her job. She had already spent a month trying to protect Noah from every silence he could not understand.
From Louise’s seat, I could see only the tops of their heads.
Before I could call her back, she leaned down toward the floor, then straightened with something pale between her fingers. Evelyn noticed too late.
From Louise’s seat, I could see only the tops of their heads.
Louise bent down, picked up a small printed photograph that had fallen face-up near the woman’s shoe, and placed it beside the screen of her tablet.
The woman cried out so sharply that every head nearby turned.
The tablet was already open to a recent picture of me holding Noah while Louise leaned against my shoulder.
Then Louise turned the tablet and the photograph toward the woman.
The woman cried out so sharply that every head nearby turned.
She jumped up, struck her knee against the tray table, and hurried into the aisle.
A flight attendant intercepted her.
Louise held up the photograph.
“Ma’am, what happened?”
The woman pointed at Louise.
“Where did you get that?”
Louise held up the photograph.
“You dropped it.”
The woman snatched the photograph.
“Give it back.”
“I was going to.”
The woman snatched the photograph, then looked at the image on Louise’s tablet again.
Her anger disappeared.
Something heavier replaced it.
The woman followed her without another word.
“I need another seat.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. The cabin is full.”
“Then let me stand.”
“You may step into the galley with me for a moment, but you’ll need to return before descent.”
The woman followed her without another word.
She locked the tablet.
Louise turned toward me.
“What did you say to her?” I asked.
She locked the tablet.
“Something honest.”
“What?”
That answer worried me more than if she had admitted to being rude.
Louise looked toward the rear of the plane.
“I think she should hear me say it again.”
That answer worried me more than if she had admitted to being rude.
The woman returned several minutes later. She remained standing beside the row and looked at Louise.
“Would you repeat what you asked me?”
She placed the photograph beside the image on her tablet again.
Louise glanced at me.
I nodded once.
She placed the photograph beside the image on her tablet again.
“I asked whether you would want someone to speak to your daughter the way you spoke to my mom.”
The woman stared at the two pictures.
“No, I would not want anyone speaking to Jenna that way.”
“The woman in this photograph is my daughter, Jenna,” she said. “The baby is my grandson.”
Louise waited.
The woman swallowed.
“No,” she whispered.
“No what?” Louise asked.
A nearby older passenger lowered his newspaper.
“No, I would not want anyone speaking to Jenna that way.”
Louise closed the tablet.
“Then don’t.”
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