It’s a Girl

If we have such a thing as a parenting philosophy, it amounts to little more than a spit-up-stained version of the old credo “Moderation in all things.” Baby D. gets a bath, for example, every few days. Not every day at 7 p.m., nor only when we happen to notice she’s filthy. But just often enough.

We’ve been trying to apply the same principle to parenting in public. Restauranting isn’t an activity we do all that often — we like to cook, after all — but we do enjoy it. And since everyone says eating out with a baby is easiest when she’s small (and therefore, hopefully, asleep throughout the meal), we thought we’d try it.

With baby limitations in mind, we duly planned our dining expeditions carefully. Delphine’s first meal out was brunch — on a weekday, in a restaurant we’d been to several times before, with big chairs, lots of room, few customers, and tolerant staff. D. cooperated perfectly by sleeping in her sling throughout the meal.

A brief afternoon trip to the local Italian bakery came next. No weekend crowds, no morning rush — and not a peep from the sleeping baby.

Heartened, we got a little daring, going out at the riskier dinner hour (bigger crowds, longer waits, and a generally fussier baby) for burgers. Again, snoozeville the entire time.

Lulled by our success, we got ambitious and tried to do dinner out after going to an art opening. That was mistake number one, as D. was getting hungry by the time we were looking for snacks ourselves. Mistake number two was our first choice of eatery, a tavern with tasty burgers.

I’m no expert on Oregon’s liquor laws, but apparently a bar that serves food (as they are all required to do) is not the same as a restaurant that serves booze. The former doesn’t allow minors; the latter does. So we got kicked out of the bar (which I had always thought of as, well, a restaurant) and felt like dogs (which, incidentally, are actually allowed at some bars around town).

Shamed, we wandered down the street to a “real” restaurant for tapas. We were seated right away, but by now, of course, D. needed to eat, too. Clumsy mom spent half an hour propping baby on her arms and trying to feed her in the dark under a nursing shawl (aka The Hooter Hider). Even under the best of circumstances, D. is a noisy diner. For the first time ever, we were grateful to be eating in a loud establishment.

We kept trying, going out in the evening a few more times so that we could simultaneously socialize on an adult schedule and parent on a baby schedule. Tricks we have learned so far:

1) A carefully draped napkin is essential for the adult who is trying to eat and hold the baby in a Björn at the same time, in order to keep crumbs (or worse) off the baby’s head.

2) Banquette seating or, best yet, a booth is vital to both stay out of the waitstaff’s way and to stash all the junk a baby on the go needs (diaper bag, the aforementioned Björn, receiving blankets, etc.).

3) The public — at least in mellow Portland, Oregon — just doesn’t care if you nurse or even change a diaper in front of them. But hearty middle-aged men still crack the same tired old chestnuts everywhere. Last night’s version? A offer to buy our baby from us because she was so cute, followed by an offer to sell us his teenaged son. Ho ho ho.

Happy diners everywhere!