It is 4:52 PM.  Our flight took off at 4:35 PM.  Eder has finished drinking his milk.  He’s done reading books.  He is not tired.  He does not want to sit still.  In seventeen minutes, he has already played with and discarded every toy in the diaper bag.  Now he’s screeching.  Solomon and I are passing him back and forth, trying in vain to appease him.  The good news is there are only four hours and twenty-two minutes to go. The woman seated in front of us turns around.  “You know, I think he’s hungry,” she says, “have you tried giving him some milk?”  Before I can answer, the woman next to me chimes in, “the problem is you fed him too soon. You should have waited.  Poor thing, his ears must be terribly painful. Put the pacifier in his mouth at least.”  There’s a tap on my shoulder.  A grandmother behind me disagrees.  “I think he has gas.  Did you try moving his legs—sometimes that helps to ease their tummies.”  Not to be left out, the woman across the aisle leans over.  “Did you pack any socks for him?  He’s cold—look at his bare feet!”  I look at my phone.  4:54 PM. There are only four hours and twenty to go.  There is nothing quite like flying the friendly skies with an eleven-month-old. 4:57 PM the seat belt sign finally turns off.  Solomon stands up and takes Eder to practice walking up and down the aisle.  The grandmothers swoon. He’s such a good dad.  Look at him, bent over, walking with the baby.  Awww, he’s so cute.  And so lucky to have a such a good dad.  I take out my iPad and begin furiously typing this sermon. For me, the flight was a stark depiction of something I’ve experienced often since becoming a mother.  Before Eder was born, I was never blamed for someone else’s bad mood.  Honestly, there have been plenty of times I’ve been in public with people who were grumpy or upset, even times when my congenial husband was not the cheeriest.  But at those times, no one would ever suggest that Solomon might be gassy or that I had packed him the wrong clothes.  But now, there is this sense if Eder is upset, it must be something that I either did or didn’t do that made him feel that way.  I didn’t know this, but there is a right way and a wrong way to mother.  The rule of thumb is whatever you’re doing is wrong.