a) taking a toddler to DC Coast, or
b) wearing jeans to DC Coast?
I couldn’t find anyone to watch the Boo Boo Kitty today so I ended up schlepping him to my lunch date with my friend Dave. Dave owed me a lunch because I convinced him to play hardball on salary with his new employer and the suckers bought it–giving Dave a sizeable raise that will promptly go to his child’s $35,000 college education next year.
As I cruised into the restaurant 15 minutes late, I was greeted with thinly-veiled looks of abject horror. Who brings a baby to a lovely restaurant for lunch?
If I was Britney, they wouldn’t have looked at me that way. Or Gwynth. Or Katie/I mean Kate Holmes. OK, maybe they would have looked at me like I was crazy if I was Katie/I mean Kate Holmes. The Boo was asleep in his $14 stroller, but this did not stop the hostess from asking if I would like to put the stroller away. I had a Diane Keaton/Baby Boom moment when I wondered if I could “Check” the baby in at the coat room.
K: No, no, no. He’ll be FINE. Just wheel him under the table and he’ll never know what’s going on.
But I went WAY out on a limb and asked if I could take the baby AND the stroller to my seat.
H: Well you are seated upstairs.
Hostess clearly did not have children, so it is unfair to blame her or mock her for not realizing that a stay-at-home mother who is no longer generating a paycheck will walk through FIRE to have free crab cakes as an appetizer and the pasta special with pancetta, mushrooms and red onions in a spicy tomato sauce, and that a set of stairs is small potatoes–a veritable bump in the road when it comes to obstacles. So I shlepped the baby stroller right up those stairs.
It was only then that I realized that maybe people weren’t looking at me because I was carrying a baby in a baby stroller up the stairs of a fine dining establishment but maybe it was because I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Everyone else was wearly suits.
My jeans might have cost $900. Would that have made it acceptable? So they really only cost me $29.99 (a fact that has been bugging me since I bought them because I don’t have $29.99 to spend on jeans–my husband brought it to my attention, however, that it was money well spent since I have worn them 6 days a week for the past 3 months).
The kid was extremely well behaved, and didn’t create much of a ruckus (except for the snot bubbles–who takes a sick kid to DC Coast for lunch?). It’s amazing how giving a kid a knife will keep him busy.
Before you freak out, it was a DULL knife. It’s not like I was gonna let him run with it.
a) taking a toddler to DC Coast, or
Well I got my first cranky email about my “Definitely not having a silent birth” maternity tee over at babybrewing. Rebecca from California writes, “Your Not having a silent birth is definitely NOT funny.”
Oops. I thought it was funny. Apparently it is definitely NOT funny. I have offended. Derek and I began to discuss this ad nauseum. Or I discussed it ad nauseum and Derek commented when he could get a word in edgewise.
K: I wasn’t trying to offend anyone. Hey, Jen wanted me to make a tshirt that said “Silent Birth=Crui-azy.” Now that would have been mean.
D: You are making fun of them.
K: I’m actually just exercising my constitutional right to free speech and free choice. You know, a woman’s right to choose. For those who “choose” not to have a silent birth. Who won’t have L. Ron Hubbard telling them to keep their mouths shut while they attempt to pass a 15 1/2 inch head out of a hole the size of a sharpie pen.
I would just like to say that I officially passed the bar two days ago and it didn’t take me long to obtain the ability to talk OUT OF MY ASS at a moment’s notice.
OK, so maybe I don’t actually believe that the constitution actually gives the right to choose, but that is besides the point.
I have thought about this all day. Wondering why someone would take a joke so seriously. Derek thought that Rebecca was Katie Holmes, in cognito. I think she is still being silent (has it been 7 days yet?) and Dave thought that Rebecca was the legal counsel for the Church of Scientology.
Then I googled Rebecca. Note to all you internetors out there. If you are going to leave cranky emails, don’t use rebeccainsertlastname@theslowestinternetconnectioninAmerica.com when you send the cranky email. You are entitled to your opinion and you are entitled to share it with me (I believe I have already mentioned the constitution somewhere here). But odds are pretty good that I am going to blog about it and it won’t be pretty. And you’ll have to be patient with me, as I have not completed of Grade IV Expanded and the Happiness Rundown, as Rebecca has. So in all my unenlightenedment, I apologize for making a joke that was not funny.
But here is the kicker. I had a silent birth. Not a Scientology-espoused silent birth, but I reached a point that I threatened to bring physical harm to anyone who broke my concentration. In fact, my husband caught on really quick. I think it had something to do with me saying, “Stop TALKING.” And the fact that I was looking for an extremely sharp object with which to impale him. But if he had told me before I had Ethan that I HAD to be silent, I can promise I would have screamed like a banshee from the first contraction on (that’s 28 hours of screaming, if you needed the math).
So I guess the joke is on me. Sorry to offend.