I thought it would be ok to take Will to a restaurant. I planned the event ahead. Will would have a nap, be fed at home, and then I would take my happy, full, baby with me to meet with a friend for lunch.
I’m laughing reading over what I just wrote. Nothing ever happens as planned when you’re a parent, does it?
Here’s what happened when we got to the restaurant. We sat down in the bar area, surrounded by mostly men and some women on their lunch break. No other kids in sight. Before even ordering, Will screams. Not just an “oh that baby must be having a bad day scream” it was more an “I’m going to see how loud I can be! Eeeeeee!!” Red-in-the-face scream. He could have been competing with Mariah Carey circa 1990. Except these screams aren’t pleasant. They’re blood curdling; they hit the core of my gut, and they cause me major anxiety. For the first time in my parenting life, I worried that someone would ask us to leave or at least sit somewhere else in the restaurant.
We have officially entered the screaming phase.
Normal, I know. Enjoyable, it’s not.
Can you relate?