We went out for dinner at a restaurant last night, and while we were waiting for our food to arrive I noticed a group of people getting seated at a nearby table. The women all carried babies and diaper bags. The men carried child carriers and more diaper bags. There were bottles and burp clothes and bibs getting tossed to and fro. The restaurant’s servers arrived with high chairs as the men tried to store the baby carriers under the table. The couples jostled about, trading seats and exchanging various pieces of baby gear. I gestured in their direction and said to my husband, “Remember those days, babe?”
He smiled knowingly, and I sat smugly watching my two quiet children color happily.
Until the food arrived.
The cheese on Maddie’s pizza was too melty and Katie’s grilled cheese was yucky and the fries had something on them and the garlic bread I offered Katie was gross and Maddie had more food than Katie and why couldn’t they have pop and please stop kicking me under the table, Katie and yes, you can have a sip of my pop but don’t stir it like that, you’re spilling it and quiet down, Maddie, people are eating and don’t tease your sister like that and please, let’s just pay the bill and go home.
I took a deep breath and glanced in the direction of the group I had noticed previously. The moms sat engaged in conversation with each other, bouncing their happy babies on their knees.