Out To Lunch
I struggled with the trays of food, I dug through my massive bag brimming with diapers, board books and sippy cups, searching for my wallet. I glanced around in a panic hissing "where is he? where is he?!" Someone touched my shoulder and said "Don't worry, he's right behind you". Whew, I didn't lose Simon. That's a step in the right direction. Owen was fiddling with the zipper on my bag while I searched for my wallet "Stop it! Get off my bag right now!"
We made it to the table and the anticipation of lunch was too much for a hungry toddler to bear. Simon begins screaming. "MAAAAAAAA!" In Simon's world, "MAAAAAAAA!!" means "Give it me. NOW. I'm not f***ing around here, woman." His screaming is high pitched and intense and I feel my hands start to shake as I frantically start spooning rice onto a Styrofoam plate for him. I'm so rushed by his thrashing and screaming that I abandon utensils in favour of a faster approach to cutting his meat into baby sized bites. I toss a piece of meat into my mouth and spit out an appropriately sized morsel onto his plate. I do that about 7 times before I feel it. You know the feeling...people staring at you. What am I? An animal? It looks like I'm regurgitating his food for him, and I'm instantly overwhelmed by embarrassment and shame. Then as quickly as the embarrassment hit me, it's gone and replaced by liquid hatred leeching from my every pore. My eyes dart around to the people sitting closest to my table and I want to scream "What?!! What are you staring at, you dried up, bitter, old cows?! You think you've never eaten chicken that was spat onto your plate by your hectic mother?! Screw you."
Then it happens, an older woman walks up to my table and I'm ready for her. I've got a little rant in my back pocket and I just need to be provoked...come on, woman. Bring it. She says "My goodness, he's got a healthy set of lungs, doesn't he?" I shrug cooly and say "He does, yes." Say one more thing, lady. I doubledog dare you. She says "You've got two healthy, happy kids there. Good for you."
I looked at Owen, who was patiently waiting for me to satisfy Simon before he could get his own meal served up. I looked at Simon who had stopped screaming and was now desperately stuffing regurgitated chicken into his mouth by the fistful. We survived another lunch out and this random woman was a gift. I thanked her, picked up a knife and fork and cut up Owen's meat like a civilized human being.
We made it to the table and the anticipation of lunch was too much for a hungry toddler to bear. Simon begins screaming. "MAAAAAAAA!" In Simon's world, "MAAAAAAAA!!" means "Give it me. NOW. I'm not f***ing around here, woman." His screaming is high pitched and intense and I feel my hands start to shake as I frantically start spooning rice onto a Styrofoam plate for him. I'm so rushed by his thrashing and screaming that I abandon utensils in favour of a faster approach to cutting his meat into baby sized bites. I toss a piece of meat into my mouth and spit out an appropriately sized morsel onto his plate. I do that about 7 times before I feel it. You know the feeling...people staring at you. What am I? An animal? It looks like I'm regurgitating his food for him, and I'm instantly overwhelmed by embarrassment and shame. Then as quickly as the embarrassment hit me, it's gone and replaced by liquid hatred leeching from my every pore. My eyes dart around to the people sitting closest to my table and I want to scream "What?!! What are you staring at, you dried up, bitter, old cows?! You think you've never eaten chicken that was spat onto your plate by your hectic mother?! Screw you."
Then it happens, an older woman walks up to my table and I'm ready for her. I've got a little rant in my back pocket and I just need to be provoked...come on, woman. Bring it. She says "My goodness, he's got a healthy set of lungs, doesn't he?" I shrug cooly and say "He does, yes." Say one more thing, lady. I doubledog dare you. She says "You've got two healthy, happy kids there. Good for you."
I looked at Owen, who was patiently waiting for me to satisfy Simon before he could get his own meal served up. I looked at Simon who had stopped screaming and was now desperately stuffing regurgitated chicken into his mouth by the fistful. We survived another lunch out and this random woman was a gift. I thanked her, picked up a knife and fork and cut up Owen's meat like a civilized human being.
It's so true...we THINK they are all judging us but really, it's more like they're thinking "Gosh, I remember those days...I can relate".
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