Don't You Need a License for this?

I've finally figured out why everyone in the known universe (that would be, Santa, the elves, the lady on the airplane, the flight attendants, the barista, the check out guy, etc., etc., etc.) thought that MY SON was my sister's kid and not mine, because I look like the biggest incompetent who couldn't possibly be this child's mother. There is my sister, with three thousand different baby items slung around her, popping this open and that, sliding that thingamajig there all while swigging some coffee or eating lunch, while effortlessly holding the baby on her hip while I sat staring wide eyed off in the corner. The woman has four kids. And apparently, that makes a difference. Wouldn't you think people would think that the lady who looks sleep deprived and confused would be the mother? Nope, nope, not at all. Which is why, while on the plane, even though I was falling asleep, and even though I took the Baby out of the front carrier, and even though my sister asked if I wanted to let her hold him, I refused, and then promptly let him slip off of me and into the side of the plane. Someday, I'm sure he'll forgive me.