On Friday night, Bill and I took friends out to dinner. Their kids babysat our kids. Pete got to come along. We went to a nice place and had a great time.
It was nearly 8 pm by the time we actually got to the restaurant and Petey had fallen asleep on the way. He’s still in that nifty car seat carrier that pops out of the car without disturbing the baby. We carried him in and opted to just leave him on the floor of the tiny restaurant tucked near my chair instead of trying to squeeze a highchair at the table.
Immediately, a woman from another table comes over and asks permission to look at the baby. Permission granted, she proceeds to pick up his hand and stroke it, all while oohing and aahing over how sweet he is, how lucky we are, how she loves babies and can’t wait to be a grandmother. The four of us did the obligatory smiling and nodding, all of us internally laughing over the likelihood that she was assuming this was our first and only child and that we had no idea what the next few months would bring once the little guy became truly mobile.
And I’m also gritting my teeth and thinking that if this woman wakes up my sleeping child, I’m going to have to kill her.
Fortunately, she did not wake him up. He did wake up on his own about 10 minutes later, but went back to sleep in my arms, where he stayed for the remainder of our dinner. I regretting ordering the jaeger schnitzel over the salmon (fish is usually easier to eat one-handed), but I managed to eat it.
After all, he’s not my first and only kid.