Before I had a baby I used to go to my favorite, nice, quality Mexican restaurant at least once a week at whatever time I wanted. Usually we would sit at the bar, sometimes we would talk to each other, but mostly Grant and I would just enjoy our beers and fajitas and watch everyone around us. It was so relaxing.
Nowadays, like today, I have to bribe my husband to get home before 6PM by promising we can eat Mexican food at the mall instead of something healthy at home. Real fancy like. Then we rush to get there by 5:30 so Jack can eat on time, spend my entire dinner feeding him instead of myself, then apologizing to the waitress for the cornucopia of shit on the floor by his high chair.
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The only people watching I do these days is to look around and make sure no one is judging me for feeding Jack directly off of what I only assume is a clean table.
But you know what, as long as I can still have Mexican food on a school night, the world is all right and my pants are too tight.
It's also funny how ballsy I am now about going out to dinner with Jack due mostly to my desperate need to get the hell out of the house. Back when he was a baby we never went out.
In fact, the first time we tried, we ordered an appetizer and things were going pretty well. So we got all cocky and decided to spring for entrees. Well, Jack must have thought that was hilarious because right as the waitress walked away he started screaming crying.
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Grant took him, not to the bathroom to change his diaper, but to the parking garage where our car was. I thought this was unconventional and was going to tell him when he returned. But he never did.
After spending about 15 minutes looking like a sad over eater with a plate of nachos and two entrees by myself, I got the food to go and went looking for my boys. I found them pacing around the parking garage, Jack still crying, Grant on the verge.
We didn't dine out for a real hot minute after that.
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