Restaurant FAIL

I don't know what it is about parenting, but it seems to have given us short-term memory loss.


Like with eating at restaurants.


A few weeks ago, the stars aligned: Chris got off work early and Cole took a late nap, which presumably means that we squeak his bedtime back from 6:00 pm to 6:30 pm...if we're lucky.


So, impulsive crazy person that I am, I blurt out, "Hey babe! Let's go out to dinner tonight!"


"Ok!" he says.


We throw some shoes on Cole and hop in the car. We decide on a whim to try a new Italian restaurant we've heard good things about ( plus, hello? have you seen my sidebar? It is not a coicidence that Italian-food lover is right up there next to mama and wife in my description). This is a departure from our usual VERY family-friendly Red Robin or Olive Garden, but hey! I was feeling like a very capable mama, so why not try a little something new, right?


As we unload Cole and walk up to the restaurant, I start to have a few misgivings.  I scope out the outside, making sure there weren't any "No Minors" signs (um, because I once, um, brought Cole into a restaurant that was really a bar that I didn't realize and the waitress had to tell me to leave. SO EMBARASSING!!!!).  No signs, though, so we open the door and step in.


And it's a nice place.  I mean REALLY nice.  Dim ambient lighting, candles lit on the tables (that have REAL TABLECLOTHES on them...that should have been our clue to turn and RUN!), hushed conversation.  The host seats us and goes to get a high chair (from the BACK - another clue - no highchairs lining the walls in plain sight!) and hands us our fancy menus (yet another clue - no kid's menu!).


Oh crap.


As Chris and I furtively look around and exchange anxious glances, we realize that we are the only dimwits in the entire restaurant to bring a child into the premises. So after some intense discussion about how rude it would be to leave vs how rude it would be to ruin every single person's meal with a possibly screaming child, Chris, being the direct manly problem solver that he is, decides to just ask our server.


"Excuse me?  We were just wondering if we could ask you a question?  We, um, didn't quite realize how nice this place was and...well...is it ok to have our child in here?"


Bless her heart, the server didn't blink an eye and reassured us that it was fine.


But SHE obviously didn't have the murderous stares of hundreds of patrons staring at us, just waiting for a peep out of Cole that was a single decibel too loud. (or maybe that was just my imagination...)

So Chris and I frantically choose our meals, in between using everything in arm's reach to keep Cole quiet and occupied.  But whoops! As I'm distracted while ordering, Cole manages to use his Baby Octopus hands to reach the plate I've tried to pull out of the way.  With an impressive blocking technique, Chris intercepts the (breakable) plate before it does any damage.  After requesting some bread to keep Cole busy, I quickly clear the official Baby Zone on the table to prevent any more plate incidents - even though it means Chris and I will have to eat our meals sideways, taking up no more than the farthest quarter of the table away from Cole and his octopus arms.

But that's ok!  Because Cole is occupied and entertained and not making too much noise...or is he?  It's so hard to tell because we are slightly desensitized to Baby Noise Level.  Maybe he's disturbing someone.  So I shoot harried glances around us, trying to detect if any other patrons are looking at us and judging our parenting skills.  No murderous looks...but just to be safe, I plop Cole's bink in his mouth (something I NEVER do during daytime...desperate times, desperate measures, you know).

whew.  Ok, we might be safe now.  Chris and I try for some lighthearted chatter, but truthfully?  we are just too darn nervous. 

Finally, our food arrives.  We bolt it down, in between loading Cole's plate with bits and pieces (which he eats by taking out his bink, chewing a bite, then plopping his bink back in for a few minutes...but at least he's quiet! and not throwing anything!).  Chris asks for the check, while I take the opportunity to unload Cole out of the high chair and hightail it out of there before he can start fussing.

Once we're all in the car, I can finally relax.  I turn to Chris and say, "When did eating dinner out become less relaxing and more like running a marathon?!"

I silently vow to never eat out at a nice restaurant with Cole until he's older.  Like 30.

But we all know we'll forget and take him out next weekend.  'cause parenting gives you short term memory loss.


PS. I'm seriously considering trying to pass a law that requires businesses to post a rating of 1-10 on the kid-friendliness of their establishment. I'm pretty sure it would save some parents some stress!