Evening out

There's a time when you just stop going to sit-down restaurants with a baby. It becomes easier to not deal publicly with the possibility that she will refuse to eat, scream at you, or poop her pants.

Then months pass and you finally do take the child to a proper restaurant again. The woman in black pants leads you to a table and someone brings you a glass of water, and you feel like a high roller. The laminated menu feels classy and sophisticated, like a British waiter.

"A basket of bread? Yes indeed, my good man. A straw for my water glass? Well let me see...I would love a straw!"

And you pray your kid behaves herself.

Twenty-five seconds after we sat down, Lyla had extracted every piece of gum from the pack I gave her. Julie handed her an empty bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse. Lyla knew just what to do with it.



She pretended to reapply and re-scrub about 37 times, like a cheerful germaphobe.

Time passed. Food arrived and slowly disappeared. Then Lyla and Julie walked around the restaurant while the waitress boxed our leftovers and I paid the bill. Ho hum. No big deal. Just a regular evening out with the family.