Blessed are the ignorant..

Dear couple with the baby we saw at Fireshouse Subs on Sunday,

Hi. We're the family who was sitting at the table next to yours. Ma'am, I saw you looking over at our table with a mixture of pity and apprehension. I know. I can admit it. We looked a little pathetic, didn't we?

Mom and Dad shoveling food in faster than we could swallow while trying to convince the cranky toddler to try a couple of bites and throwing pieces of sandwich from one tray to another, playing a sort of mealtime hopscotch. And while we're doing this, we're arguing with each other over whether or not to give the tot a sip of soda while the tot, obviously strung out on preservatives and all sorts of bad food, is reaching for the forbidden soda and whining for it. And then Mom snarls at Dad to go get the girl a "cookie, dammit!" Sorry sight, right?

I heard you telling your parents (at least I assume they are your parents considering you called them Mom and Dad, but I could be mistaken) about the great lengths you had gone to find the organic Cheerios you were feeding your son and how, since he is beginning to chew harder foods, you are being careful to read the ingredients on every product you bring into your home. 

I saw you give the boy, who is probably about 10 months right now, a toy to play with and he occupied himself with it quietly, giving you all a chance to enjoy a leisurely meal while the toddler (and bad influence) at the table next to you was building a complicated looking structure with her pieces of bread and meat and then going all Godzilla on it with one swipe of her hand. (If I could compare the two tables, I'd say your table had the perfect weather with sunny skies while our table was experiencing hurricane warnings with a high chance of scattering debris.)

It's okay. I'm not taking it personally, because I know something you don't. You will be us. Soon.

Your day will come. When your son begins to walk, and talk, and decides he's not on the same page with the decisions you've been making, your day will be here.

You will have that day when your perfectly clean child decides to take the entire plate of food and hold it over his head, showering sodden bits of bread and lettuce all over his pristine curls.

You will have that day when you are throwing food from one parent's tray to the other because your obedient son all of the sudden decides he only wants food from Daddy's tray and even though Mommy is the one supplying the food, you will do everything you can to make sure it looks like the food is in fact coming from Daddy's side of the table to avoid the tantrum that he will initiate anyway when he catches you in the act with the turkey arcing through the air.

Your day is on the horizon when your golden child, always contentedly sipping from his sippy cup filled with exactly one part nursery water and one part 100% apple juice, will look up and realize his entire life is now hinging on one sip from the soda you are enjoying yourself, and you will be forced to have a battle of wills with yourself and your husband over whether or not you should give in and let him have a sip, thinking on one hand that you may be providing the gateway junk which will in turn pave the way for more bad food to be allowed entrance into his unsullied temple and then the other hand will slap at you with "It's just a sip. It will shut him up." And you will cave.

You will wonder where your good eater's appetite has gone as you make quick calculations in your head over how much turkey and bread and lettuce made it into his mouth versus the floor and whether or not a cookie, while not a substantial source of vitamins and protein, will hopefully fill him up and then order your hapless husband to get the freaking kid a cookie, the same husband who is tired by now of playing hoagie hockey and defending his own meal from marauding tiny hands, and he will look up blankly at your request making you repeat the demand with a "dammit!" and the child, upon hearing the word "cookie", will cry for the cookie while not taking the time to understand that the timespan between hearing the word "cookie" and the cookie's actual appearance is not instantaneous and the volume level will rise until not even the appearance of the sweet merciful tantrum ending cookie will calm him down.

Yes, mark my words. You will be here.

So, no, I'm not taking your pitying looks to heart. Every dog has its day and every toddler has his tantrum. And yours will have his.

In the meantime, soak up all his cuteness and obedience for this is his way of letting you rest up before the real fun begins.

Cheers,

The mom at the next table

Comments

[John]

Yup, I remember the moment. It's exactly what ran through our minds. We just gave eachother that look, that look and the soft snarky giggle under our breath...knowing this "perfect" ignorant family is SO in for it.
Bless their little innocent hearts, hehee.

[Sprite's Keeper]

Dude, are you gunning for a blog? Back off, buddy! Mine!............
Looooove yooouuu......

[Kirsten]

LOL.. to funny! So far we've been pretty lucky and Meggers is six, although little evil streaks are starting to appear now. Not that I'm rubbing it in or anything;o)

You two could have your own comedy blog. Hey how's the job front going? Are the clouds parting?

[Lisa]

Oh yeah. I remember being the mom thinking what a well-behaved little child I had and dreading the day when -- well, this happened: squirming out of his chair, arching his back until he is released, running around the restaurant with me behind him saying "now be a good boy," squealing when he is finally captured and removed from whatever chair he has climbed into.

And in the end? He's eaten nothing.

*sigh*

Yeah. Parenthood. It's a blast! :-)

[Sprite's Keeper]

Lisa, are you sure you didn't have twins? Because I KNOW I didn't have twins and your son and my daughter seem to be on the same streak. Freaky...