Before having Lucy, I was a smug single. I'd visit restaurants with various friends and enjoy my quiet dinners. If by some chance there happened to be a wailing child sitting in the vicinity, my disdain was evident. What nerve did THOSE people have ruining MY dinner? Last weekend, I became THOSE people.
Our Saturday started off pleasant enough. We drove up toward the mountains to a tiny little place called Pumpkintown for their annual fall festival. The drive was gorgeous. Lucy slept and continued to sleep as we strolled her around. She even slept through the annual pole-climbing contest, which basically involves a bunch of people attempting to climb up a crisco-greased utility pole to grab a flag--but I digress.
As we headed home, I suddenly felt the urge to "Set My Sails for Kingfish." But sadly, the only Kingfish restaurants are a good 400 miles away. Instead, I told Jamie I'd like to go to Red Lobster for dinner. Lucy sat in her carseat smiling and looking around while we waited for a table.
Soon enough we were seated. That's when things took a turn---a bad, bad turn. We'd been sitting for less than 5 minutes when the first whimpers began. I quickly offered Lucy her pacifier. Immediately, she looked at me, gagged, and spit it right back out. Her whimpers became louder, and the squirming began. Maybe she just needs her diaper changed, I thought. I ordered my food and then whisked her off to the bathroom. I wasn't too concerned. We'd been out to eat many times, and she'd always been perfectly pleasant.
I got back to my seat, planning to rock my little furry-headed angel until she drifted to sleep. But as soon as I sat down, what were once whimpers became loud cries. My face getting hot as others at the tables around us shot us subtle glances, I tried my litany of calming techniques. But nothing worked. My mind began to race:
Ok, I'll feed her, I thought. I can handle it. I'm armed with my cover-up. So what if this restaurant is right next door to a bastion of modesty? I'm a modern woman. We live in a free society. If I want to feed my daughter, damn it, I should be able to. It's perfectly natural.
I tried desperately to maneuver myself into place. Yet Lucy's cries became wails. And as I fumbled to offer her what she wanted, I looked up to find a very large and very unpleasant looking man staring at me. Forget it, I said. I scooped my screaming baby up and made the walk of shame out of the restaurant.
But an odd thing happened. As soon as we crossed the threshhold to freedom, Lucy stopped crying. By the time we got to the car, Lucy was looking around smiling. I fed her and eagerly anticipated going back in to finally eat.
Walking back into the restaurant, everyone marveled at the sweet little sleeping baby. I put my little pumpkin back into her carseat and began to eat my food which had gotten cold. For the record, tepid shrimp scampi isn't so tasty. Less than a minute after sitting down, Lucy's eyes opened. She scanned the room, took note of her surroundings, furrowed her brow, and immediately let out a wail. Just get the check! I told Jamie. We've got to get out of here!
We hurriedly packed up and made the walk of shame once again. Yet as soon as we crossed the magic line into the night air, Lucy stopped crying. This time, before we even made it to our car, she was sleeping soundly, which she continued to do for the next few hours.
Now, some may say that we just had a case of a baby fighting sleep. But I disagree. My theory? Red Lobster is some sort of portal into newborn baby hell. One thingI do know for sure: there will be no Red Lobster in our foreseeable future.
Our Saturday started off pleasant enough. We drove up toward the mountains to a tiny little place called Pumpkintown for their annual fall festival. The drive was gorgeous. Lucy slept and continued to sleep as we strolled her around. She even slept through the annual pole-climbing contest, which basically involves a bunch of people attempting to climb up a crisco-greased utility pole to grab a flag--but I digress.
As we headed home, I suddenly felt the urge to "Set My Sails for Kingfish." But sadly, the only Kingfish restaurants are a good 400 miles away. Instead, I told Jamie I'd like to go to Red Lobster for dinner. Lucy sat in her carseat smiling and looking around while we waited for a table.
Soon enough we were seated. That's when things took a turn---a bad, bad turn. We'd been sitting for less than 5 minutes when the first whimpers began. I quickly offered Lucy her pacifier. Immediately, she looked at me, gagged, and spit it right back out. Her whimpers became louder, and the squirming began. Maybe she just needs her diaper changed, I thought. I ordered my food and then whisked her off to the bathroom. I wasn't too concerned. We'd been out to eat many times, and she'd always been perfectly pleasant.
I got back to my seat, planning to rock my little furry-headed angel until she drifted to sleep. But as soon as I sat down, what were once whimpers became loud cries. My face getting hot as others at the tables around us shot us subtle glances, I tried my litany of calming techniques. But nothing worked. My mind began to race:
Ok, I'll feed her, I thought. I can handle it. I'm armed with my cover-up. So what if this restaurant is right next door to a bastion of modesty? I'm a modern woman. We live in a free society. If I want to feed my daughter, damn it, I should be able to. It's perfectly natural.
I tried desperately to maneuver myself into place. Yet Lucy's cries became wails. And as I fumbled to offer her what she wanted, I looked up to find a very large and very unpleasant looking man staring at me. Forget it, I said. I scooped my screaming baby up and made the walk of shame out of the restaurant.
But an odd thing happened. As soon as we crossed the threshhold to freedom, Lucy stopped crying. By the time we got to the car, Lucy was looking around smiling. I fed her and eagerly anticipated going back in to finally eat.
Walking back into the restaurant, everyone marveled at the sweet little sleeping baby. I put my little pumpkin back into her carseat and began to eat my food which had gotten cold. For the record, tepid shrimp scampi isn't so tasty. Less than a minute after sitting down, Lucy's eyes opened. She scanned the room, took note of her surroundings, furrowed her brow, and immediately let out a wail. Just get the check! I told Jamie. We've got to get out of here!
We hurriedly packed up and made the walk of shame once again. Yet as soon as we crossed the magic line into the night air, Lucy stopped crying. This time, before we even made it to our car, she was sleeping soundly, which she continued to do for the next few hours.
Now, some may say that we just had a case of a baby fighting sleep. But I disagree. My theory? Red Lobster is some sort of portal into newborn baby hell. One thingI do know for sure: there will be no Red Lobster in our foreseeable future.
1 comment:
This entry is HILARIOUS! I know, it wasn't so funny to you at the time...but to me as a mommy, I loved it. :)
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