At first I was a little annoyed by the just-barely-bigger-than-a-bonafide-baby in a stroller parked at the edge of their table in the restaurant, under the corner. The parents didn’t even look at it when it screamed; placid, they just kept eating.
I was proud of myself for not being MORE irritated than I was. It wasn’t even close to ruining the pricey summer lunch meal my wife and I were sharing; the first time she finally got to eat in this place I told her was pretty great. I was so happy we got my favorite table in the corner even though they were very busy: not totally slammed, but close.
Other than the big stroller baby and the scorched lentils on top of my vegan lasagna that was way prettier and saucier the other two times I got it, everything was pretty much perfect. There was the perfect amount of noise/conversation, and like I said, my favorite table in the BEST corner with me tucked as deep into untouchableness as anyone could get in the joint had me pretty blissed out.
While I ate and the big baby screeched like a parrot hitting puberty every other minute, I realized I wasn’t irritated with the big baby at all. I was irritated at the parents who were in the opposite of a staring contest with each other; “who can act completely deaf / ignore the big baby’s demands with the most chill while completely avoiding eye contact with anybody in the room, each other, and, of course, big baby below table level?”
Then I realized I wasn’t irritated at the parents on behalf of myself as a diner. I was irritated on behalf of the big baby; it has to fucking suck to WANT to eat, to be SURROUNDED by people eating … but be at the mercy of those big assholes hoarding all the food, waiting for them to fucking feed you. Like … if you don’t screech, they’re not giving you another fucking spoonful. And since you don’t have words you can’t specify WHAT you want. I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier and more resentful, not having any way to keep a steady flow of food coming, having to make these awful noises for anyone to even notice I am under the table and would like to eat too. I chewed it! I swallowed it!! I’m WAITING, bitches!! It’s not fair, you getting five bites to my ONE :( :( :( >:( >:(>:( Like, FINE, you don’t have to change your expression to acknowledge me as a human at this table — I fucking prefer it that way — but KEEP THE FOOD COMING, CUNTHOLES.
The parents’ expressionless silence was preferable to listening to them trying to reason with the big baby to be quiet or addressing it in cute voices (or worse, talking to each other or on their phones OVER the sound of the big baby), but it allowed for the big baby’s frustration to really take center stage and maybe forced me to have more empathy and really HEAR and UNDERSTAND what the big baby was trying to communicate more than I otherwise might have.
This quotation I read today is what reminded me of my sympathy for the big baby at our meal out last week-ish:
"I understand keenly why babies are such inconsolable and miserable bastards sometimes." - Jarred McGinnis, “I’m a father in a wheelchair” - The Guardian
It sucks to not be able to do basic shit for yourself.
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