01/04/2026
We can all agree that men don’t carry pregnancies, but after the birth? Yeah, we end up carrying pretty much everything—except for the deadbeats, of course.
I’m proud to call myself an Airplane Dad™. You know the move: kid perched triumphantly on your shoulders (or as I call it, “airplane way”). It’s the ultimate win-win. I get to read my book, log some solid steps pacing the living-room runway, and—best of all—stay completely undistracted by the scenery in yoga pants at the actual gym.
Seriously, though: why would any dad with kids bother going to the gym? The children are the weights. Living, giggling, occasionally flailing kettlebells. Isn’t that the whole point?
Anyway, I rotate my passengers fairly—each kid gets their turn in first class—until it’s time to bring the plane in for landing. That’s when chaos erupts. The little captain up top refuses to disembark. Vehemently. Furiously. Sudden onset of separation anxiety at 3,000 feet (or roughly daddy’s eye level).
Cue emergency procedures: I deploy advanced distraction maneuvers, simultaneous entertainment protocols, and heavy negotiation tactics—all while praying the tower (aka Mom) clears us for an emergency snack landing.
And that, my friends, is when it hits me: carrying your kids the airplane way isn’t just fun. It’s downright luxurious. Highly recommend upgrading to neck class whenever possible.
And that, ladies and gentlemen is the Giraffe Experience. Stay tuned!
