Eating Out

Like most new parents, we were completely unprepared for the stark reality of kiddie wrangling. When we were DINKYs, we would spend our weekends doing all those things that we wanted to do but couldn't when we were impoverished students. If we wanted to take in a film, we could. If we wanted to try that new restaurant, we could. If we wanted to sit in a cafe, drink coffee and read the newspaper all afternoon, we could. Go on impromptu city breaks to see old friends? Why, of course! We had the financial muscle and the time to do what we wanted, when we wanted.

The trouble with unlimited freedom is that unless you have unlimited ideas on how to use it, this freedom gets, well, boring. So we decided to have one last big holiday and then have a child. And just like in a cheesy Hollywood movie script, we went on holiday a young couple, had lots of fun cuddling koalas and chasing Goth kangaroos and then we came back parents.

Three weeks after Little Miss was born, we tried to have a meal out together as a family. She slept the whole time. We enjoyed our meal - pizza if I remember correctly - and we vowed to do it again. How naive we were. As any fule kno, small children and polite restaurants simply do not mix.

The irony of all of this is not lost on me. Back in the days BP (Before Parenthood) we would stop for a bit of lunch and ask for a table as far away as possible from the war zone on table 5 caused by the close proximity of one or more toddlers with food. Now we don't have that option. Our daughter is the one with the spaghetti sauce and ice cream face mask and the sad little pile of half masticated bread under her seat. And she may look utterly adorable to us wearing her dinner but our fellow diners may not appreciate her sartorial flair. We still try to eat out but rarely the pros (potentially delicious food) outweigh the cons (small child who would much rather be anywhere else).

Recently my brother and his girlfriend agreed to babysit while we went out for a meal at a Chinese restaurant - our first as a couple for many months. Little Miss K was in bed asleep so it was hoped that we wouldn't receive That Call telling us to Come Home And Sort Things Out. Five minutes after our arrival my mobile rang.

'How do you get the television to work?' asked my brother. This is not such a stupid question since our home entertainment system is complicated enough to defeat someone with a Physics Ph.D. I told him to press the 'TV' button, followed by the 'AV' button, then the 'Sat' button, dial the number of the channel you want and finally shake the remote muttering 'work you stupid bugger'. The sound of white noise was swiftly followed by Coronation Street. I asked if they had had anything to eat yet; pizza had been ordered. 'Don't let the delivery man ring the doorbell otherwise Little Miss will wake up and want some,' I warned. I could sense the blood draining from my brother's face.

Later, as we tucked into our toffeed apple, a thought struck us. The food had been good, the waiters friendly and we had enjoyed being grown-ups. Being the two of us again, just like we were two years ago. But there had been something missing. We had become so used to Little Miss K grinning at us through a beard of fusilli con spinaci that to not have her there seemed utterly wrong. True, we would have ended up leaving the meal half-way through for a 'Nappy Time' moment and probably earned the contempt of every other diner in the restaurant in the process (more anon). However she is our little girl and meal times are not the same without her telling you emphatically that the thing in her hand is a 'poon' and that she is 'all done' and to 'wa' hands' afterwards.

I know this has all gone a bit fluffy, but I will make amends.