When I spot a baby on a flight, oh, yeah, I’m wincing right along with you. But my uneasiness is less about the baby and mostly about the traumatized (stigmatized) parents traveling with the kid. The entire experience is basically set up to be rough as hell.
Usually my imagination conjures up a narrative a lot like the one on the pilot episode of "Lost," where it’s a bit of a bumpy flight, then BAM! The back rips off and BAM! Half of us are dead. (I’m always in that half.)