My new life as a boss – and a mother

A few weeks ago I was 40,000ft in the air with Nellie, my wife, and our newborn daughter on our first cross-country flight when the latter decided to test the technological limits of her Pampers Pure Protection Size 2. I was bent over in the aisle, blocking traffic, sweating, wrangling her out of her soiled onesie, when I realised that in our attempt to pack for several weeks on the opposite coast we had made the rookie mistake of forgetting to put a change of clothes in our nappy bag. So there we were, having woken up at 3 a.m. for this flight. We had a half-dozen hats and tiny fleece socks and every conceivable gadget (portable white noise machine; baby ear muffs) yet not a scrap of fabric to dress our child in. Strangers were looking at us with concern as we swaddled her in layers of blankets. We laughed, delirious with exhaustion. The laptops we had charged the night before in order to edit on the plane – ha! – were shoved deep beneath the seats. Is this what Sheryl Sandberg had in mind when she told my generation to lean in? Miraculously we made it to a boutique hotel we used to love in Tribeca. This time, the kind staff aren’t ferrying over champagne – they’re dropping off pack-and-plays and nappy pails. To the antique velvet sofa in the corner of that glorious lobby now covered in breast milk: I am sorry. I’ve officially girl-bossed too close to the sun.