I'll Take A Raincheck

My husband and I have been taking Hendrick to restaurants since he was born. I'm not exaggerating - he was two day old when he made his first appearance at a Dairy Queen in Texas. We were driving his birth mother home from the hospital and stopped off for ice cream.

Because we had to wait two weeks before Hendrick was allowed to leave the state, we spent a lot of time getting to know his birth mother over fast-food lunches and barbecue dinners.

The trouble is we never broke the eating-out-with-baby habit.

Shortly after coming home, we brought Hendrick to our favorite Chinese restaurant. I recall passing him back and forth over platefuls of chicken with broccoli as we took turns soothing and feeding him.

We promised ourselves back then that we wouldn't go to restaurants anymore until he was older; and each time we eat out we renew our commitment. For those of you who haven't tried it yet, let me say with complete certainty: There's no such thing as a pleasurable dining experience when your dining companion is a cranky baby or a rambunctious tot.

I know my husband thinks he's spoiling me by giving me a break from cooking, and I greatly appreciate his concern for me, but we're kidding ourselves when we say that maybe this time our boy will sit still and eat all his veggies.

If I was smart I'd take a rain check. The food just doesn't go down easy when you're watching your 23-month-old son wriggle out of a highchair or tumble over the side of a booster seat.

But some people never learn.

Tonight, for example, Hendrick screamed bloody murder until I let him out of the booth at our favorite diner. He made a mad dash for the cake display and then climbed up the spinning stools at the counter. (It's a wonder he didn't knock down a waitress.)

I'm sure by the time we adopt our second baby we'll be ready to kick the habit. At least that's what we tell ourselves.