Once upon a time, before my own children leached all the color from the world and taught me the crucial 24/7 game face, I made a similar mistake at the beginning of a red eye flight from Anchorage to Chicago, with the cutest little 2 year-old boy I didn’t know from Adam.
Within 20 minutes, I realized he had been burped from the bowels of Hell. By the time we landed, I knew without a doubt that he was the literal antichrist.
That’s a lot of freaking peek-a-boo.
I never made eye contact with another child-sized human on an airplane again.