Eating out with kids.

I’d been feeling fairly confident all week about eating out with Matt and was giddy with excitement looking forward to showing off my son in this lovely little restaurant, Chez Arnaud. I figured this was going to be something manageable and enjoyable, and I imagined us having a wonderful family time together. One to remember, for all the right reasons.

So yesterday we all went out to dinner and I fully expected to wow the whole restaurant and the staff with my adorable son. Things didn’t exactly go as planned. At the end of the evening, when we were getting up to leave, little Matt, who is still incredibly unsteady on his feet, was looking for something to hold on to and grabbed hold off the waiter’s crotch. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw my son clutching on to our waiter’s trousers to keep himself from falling over. I offered Matt my hand and he promptly replaced his left hand on the crotch with his right hand, and held his left hand out to me. Quickly dumping my baby bag, hand bag, and coat on the floor in order to free up my other hand for Matt, I extended both arms out to him. Stumbling closer to his mother, Matt tried to bring the crotch along with him. He wouldn’t let it go. Without letting myself think about what I had to do, I approached the waiter, and while avoiding all eye contact, I pried Matt’s fingers off this poor, poor man.

Jerome returned from paying the bill, and on seeing how flustered and sweaty I was, asked what was wrong. I quickly filled him in, tossed him the baby, and returned to our table to double our waiter’s tip. For the meantime, instead of eating out, I think we'll order in.