Generally, I should empathize with these parents. I should smile knowingly and assure them that meals will eventually return to relatively clean affairs. I should console the mother of a wailing toddler and tell her that no no, she shouldn't worry. The baby's not too loud. I should be able to say we've all been there. I should think everyone deserves a meal out and that we all need to get over this Victorian notion that kids should be invisible. I should think maybe it's just not her day, I am sure she usually doesn't give her 2 year old Mountain Dew, french fries, and an ice cream sundae at EVERY meal. Maybe she's just trying to get through today, and Mountain Dew chills that kid's shit out. I should be able to recall the dozens, hundreds of meals I ordered and had to change to "to go" because one of the darlings woke as a troll from a nap. I should think of all the cold dinners M ate because he held one of the angels while I got to eat first. I should.
But I never do. Isn't it awful? I've come full circle. Remember before you had kids? No, I know, that's a ridiculous question. Your addled,child-having brain can't remember anything beyond 3 minutes ago and the 2 things on your 7-11 grocery list. Pretend you remember before you had kids, and went to a restaurant and you thought Jesus, that woman needs to control that baby. It's running amok. The "its" being the tell-tale sign that you haven't yet found the wonderful, yet excruciating responsibility of being responsible for another human. Remember when you saw that desperate mom begging her child to eat a preformed mozzarella stick? Remember you sneered at the woman's conviction that fried cheese was indeed dairy, and, therefore, healthy? Remember YOU were going to grow organic peas in your hand composted garden and steam them in mineral water and strain, freeze and reheat them without a microwave, because that is a tool of the devil? Remember when you would swear you'd leave the restaurant if your fictional future-child were to make an above 44 decibel sound? Remember when you were young and skinny and intolerant and bitchy?
I'm back to that woman. Well, half of her, anyway. I'm BITCHY about sitting next to kids. Again. Can you believe that? Can you believe I have gone from I can't believe that child isn't drinking organic milk, my future-child will always drink organic milk, even if it costs 3 times the amount of a gallon of gas. To cramming a sundae down a kid's throat, because hey, a maraschino cherry is a fruit and that's healthy. Back to holy crap, that kid just puked milk on that table, remind me to bring Lysol with me EVERYWHERE I go. It's true. I'm neither young nor skinny, but I am as intolerant and bitchy as ever. Isn't this awful?
I kind of hate myself for this. Right? I do, and I think I should get off my superiority kick and realize that there are people whose kids are in high school and and don't wear sneakers to formal night on a cruise who are thinking that I should just get my shit together right about now. Because there are those people. And they are judging me. Because that's what we, as parents, have to do. We have to, at any given time, be able to point to some one else, some other poor schmo who is also just trying to get today without abusing child or killing self and we have to think we are definitely doing better than that poor jerk. I am doing better than some one else. Anyone else. Because we start parenting thinking that we can do it all perfectly, and then we realize that's it. We gave it our best go, but it was probably crap, and that we've lowered the bar. Not entirely to the detriment...we gained some freedom not holding ourselves to an impossible standard. We gained joyful messes and spontaneous laughter because we weren't obsessing about the (possibly alien) life form that has started to grow on your kid's car seat. We have to find a good place for the bar. I'm not sure I have.
But still, damn, can I get seated in the non-breeding section of a restaurant on date night just once in a while?
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