Well, since it looks like nothing funny is going to happen to me any time soon, let's revisit THIS award winner from the Healy Parenting Hall of Fame.
This little beauty took place in the summer of 2011 in Newport, Rhode Island. Tim dropped me, Meredith, and a friend off at our favorite restaurant, which was PACKED- mainly with people who looked like they were walking with a Brooks Brothers blazer shoved up their behind. The navy blue kind with the gold buttons. If you've been to Newport, you get what I mean. We managed to get a table right away, but Tim was still trying to find a parking spot. Approximately 5 seconds after sitting down, my child developed a strong to quite strong demonic possession. I panicked. I started to sweat. Preppies and hipsters and Donna Reed types were everywhere, breathing down my neck.
Apparently, I had made the unfortunate mistake of thinking that I was still entitled to eat food in public after giving birth. I thought "You know what? This screaming child is not going to hold me hostage. I'm going to live my life, damn it!" Stupid, stupid Mary-Ellen. I should have just ordered hot tea and dumped it on my forehead- that would have been much less painful than what happened next.
The waiter, who was definitely a 21 year old college guy who had just had his legs put back down after a keg stand, asked if we would like to order. NO. NO IS THE ANSWER. RUN. RUN NOW WHILE YOU STILL CAN. "Yeah, we'll go ahead and order." Oh, how young and stupid I was then, a whole (less than) two years ago.
I don't remember much of what came next. I know that it took Tim another 30 minutes to find a parking space, which turned out to be 12 nautical miles away, off the coast of Long Island. I know that the screams from the demon child got louder. I know she threw things. I know she was foaming at the mouth, and I know that the preppies were choking on their brioche in horror. I don't know what brioche is, but it sounds pretty preppy. Tim eventually showed up. Our food still wasn't out after another 30 minutes. I asked the waiter to just pack it to go and we would leave. He kept insisting "your food will be out in a minute!" Yeah ok, if a minute is the length of the Cretaceous Period. Whole species evolved and were made extinct by meteor impacts in the time it took for this food to come out.
We finally figured that there was but once way to silence the beast- and you're looking at it. Is it dangerous to put your toddler on the window sill while holding her with two hands? Not really. Is it safe to do it with one hand and eat with the other? Nope. Is it appropriate for an eatery full of women named Muffy who are sipping Grey Goose Bloody Marys? Um, no. Sometimes you do what you have to do, no matter how dangerous or ill conceived. Thankfully, I remembered to take a picture- you know, just in case I ever started a blog about what a disastrous and irresponsible parent I am. But the real person who should be thankful? That waiter. I hear he had a vasectomy less than 24 hours later. You're welcome.
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