I've had the best intentions of getting back to the blog over the last four or five months, but the demands of the real world, the one that doesn't allow me to search thirty minutes for the perfect visual to snarkily accompany my new mommy analogies, have definitely gotten in the way. My son is now 10 months old. He's pointing at everything, chirps and squeaks out little noises like a bottle-nose dolphin, and has become pretty good at feeding himself microscopic pieces of food with those little pincers of his. Food that I cut up for him and then cut in half again, I should add. Chokaphobia, people. It's real. If you learn nothing about reality TV, Dancing with the Stars or the scientifically proven formula for predicting the next Bachelor from reading this blog, then let this one piece of information stick with you. For the love of God, whatever you do, please do not feed your babies popcorn. I once read that a child's airway is the size of a straw, and popcorn is the number one choking hazard for little ones. I smell melted butter and I get the shakes. My neurosis may have just saved a life. Who knew I was in the lifesaving business? Watch out, Dr. Phil, there's a new mustache in town.
Looking back at former entries, I wish I could have a bit of a talking to with my former childless self. If I could, I'd let her know what she was in for, how to prepare, and that no matter how sleep-deprived I get, having a kid will always be the best and most important thing that I've ever done. Sleep is over-rated. You know what's not over-rated, though? Eating out at restaurants with your wife, taking your time between courses, cozying up to a good conversation, the nightly special, the best pinot noir that Santa Barbara County can offer.
Sadly, this type of dining experience is now long gone, and all but a foggy, distant memory. Eating out at restaurants used to be easy breezy in the beginning, when our baby was a motionless burrito. For a while, babies are a lot like drunk frat boys. They drink, they wet their pants, and then they sleep and sleep some more. They sleep a lot in those early months, which makes things like dining out or going to the movies during nap time completely doable and enjoyable. Before long, your child will begin to have opinions about things. And this is when parenting start to get interesting. What was once a harmless quick change from ones-ie into PJ pants may soon turn into a carnival ride. Throughout this process, you may find that you'll give up objects of great monetary or sentimental value, just to keep your child from contorting himself on the changing table. It's a deal you make with the devil in exchange for serentiy. The day I willingly handed my son my too expensive to utter eye-glasses, was the day I realized that parenting a 10 month old is a lot like juggling angry kittens. I try not to get peed on, scratched or bitten on a daily basis. If the kitten enjoys the yarn ball, by golly, let the kitten play with the yarn ball. Sure, you may find your kitten has tied itself to a chair or ingested a teensy bit of wool, but those 30-90 seconds of free time make it all worth it. And no one got hurt, not even the sheep. Also very important.
Dining out with Callum these days has been quite tricky. I highly recommend partnering with someone who breast feeds. You have no idea how quickly a good boob can turn the beat around if things start to get ugly or those breakfast burritos are starting to get chilly. I must say the words "Honey, maybe he wants milk?" at least 10 times a day. Am I a slacker, unwilling to put the time in and take that lonely restaurant stroll with our child, while my wife tries to eat her banana pancakes more quickly than a Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest victor? Absolutely not. But one can only stroll so much before one's breakfast starts to look unappetizing. The mighty, all-powerful breast-feeding boobies, really do deserve their own holiday. I worship at the altar of the mama latte. Yoka-toka-latte-mamma. Free your lady's marmalade.
Read on for my contribution to the world of baby bloggers and all of the what to expect books out there.
What To Expect When You're Expecting To Have An Uneventful, Leisurely Brunch with your 10-Month Old:
1. The Crusty Stare. You may get looks when you walk in. Expect these looks, welcome them, embrace them even, yet don't let them unhinge you. So you're saying you're not baby friendly in here? I'll show you baby friendly, Mr. We've been lucky to escape the glare, as we have a go-to brunch spot where everyone is incredibly friendly and understanding. Its kind of like Cheers, except no one is bald and I've never seen anyone from the post office eating there. They know us well and they know us by name. They know that we will actually get on the floor and pick up the dropped Puffs, the microscopic pieces of uneaten chicken, the dropped toys, the too ripe peach that was agrily flung from the high-chair and dusted the scarf of the woman eating behind us with a very fine, almost undetectable peach spray, two sets of car keys, sophie the giraffe, everyone's menus, the forks, six wooden blocks, the water bottle, the straw, two spoons, paper napkin holders, and one cotton sock.
2. Eat an entire meal in 30-seconds or less. This is key to the dining out with toddler, aka, juggling angry kittens scenario. Eat quickly or you may find a baby hand graze the yogurt that crowns your fruit salad, or a small wooden train driven through your hashbrowns. Without fail, your child will also experience what is typically referred to as a MBO (major blow out) approximately 2.3 seconds after your food arrives. Choose a restaurant with a wide roaming or grazing space, so that you can take your chicken covered child out of his sticky peach-juice high chair and carry him around the restaurant to look at fascinating things like thermostats, mirrors, fake plants, menus, doorknobs, and strangers. Once you've circled the runway a few times, check in on mom. See where she is in her hot dog eating contest. If your breakfast burritos are starting to wilt, its time to switch things up or use one of your lifelines (I refer to this as phoning in the boob.)
3. Make sure they have to-go boxes. Despite the best laid plans, you may not have that spare ones-ie in the diaper bag when you need it most. Sometimes honey boo boo just needs to skip the throwing of the puffs all together and get down to bathtub time. If you're fortunate to finish your meal before your child has torn through every toy, tater tot and key chain you own, be sure not to leave a ring of fire on the floor encircling the base of the high chair. Clean up those puffs and the peaches, recover lost and intentionally dropped articles. Wait staff appreciates the extra effort and it may mean the difference between a crusty-eyed stare and a welcome smile the next time you return.