PANIC: It’s What’s For Breakfast

If you’re lucky enough not to be dealing with your inability to conceive and luckier yet not to know anyone who is similarly afflicted, you’re probably completely oblivious to what I’m about to describe. I’ll try not to hold it against you that I’m picturing someone who has children shaking her head thinking, what a fruitcake. Then again – you’re probably way too busy blogging about your adorable baby – and who could blame you!

But I digress.

For the last few weekends, my husband and I kept meaning to have a nice, relaxing breakfast “date” at one of our favorite hang-outs – but things kept coming up, and so it’s been several weeks now that we keep meaning to go but haven’t actually gotten around to it.

So this morning, we were both up early, showered and ready to go out the door at a reasonable time – the place in question gets packed to the gills by 9am, and if you want to be able to eat while being seated, you have to get there e-a-r-l-y. Unfortunately, we only got there just before 9am – and the dining room was already crammed full. After the hostess took our names and we sat down in the waiting area, my husband told us that there were only about 3 names before us. Piece of cake, right?


In a matter of about 10 minutes, it seemed like every single person who was either pregnant, had just given birth or who had a child under the age of 2 had decided that yes, THIS was the place to have breakfast TODAY. There was the guy with two full sleeves of tattoos holding a little girl with hot pink Crocs; the hispanic family with a little boy with a shocking head full of black hair, soundly asleep; and – my own personal little torture device – a little girl with piercing blue eyes that kept looking right at me and giving me a big, toothy smile. I immediately wanted to hate her mother – she was so casually dressed with her Petunia Pickle Bottoms diaper bag (a really nice one, not one of the lame ones!) and didn’t even seem to care about her dark roots (uhm, hello! I have a cute baby – I no longer have to care about anything else). But then I realized that this would have no effect (a) on my ability (or lack thereof) to reproduce, (b) how cute her baby was. So, instead, I did what any self-respecting adult in my situation would’ve done: I sulked.

And then more people started coming in, bringing more children – and I started to panic.

So I sat there, trying not to hyperventilate. Trying, desperately, not to draw blood as I bit my lip thinking, You will NOT cry in public. No, m’am! Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I love my husband and this place happens to make his favorite breakfast – there probably would’ve been a human cutout in my shape where I’d run straight through the glass door trying to escape what, to me, was the equivalent of the 7th circle of Hell.

I’ve never been especially tolerant of whiny children – and thankfully there wasn’t too much of that going on today. But, in the situation I’m in now, I’d almost rather be around whiny cry-babies – those, at least, I can look at and think, yeaaaah…maybe we’ll just get another pet instead. It’s the cute, adorable ones that look at you with the kind of openness only a child not steeped in prejudice or marked by life experience can have – and then I find myself torn between craving the attention (yes, I completely realize how pathetic that makes me) and being absolutely terrified of coming across like a total weirdo if I look to much/long, lest the parent(s) think I had a little too much crazy in my coffee.

(I know I’d probably totally judge someone who kept staring at MY baby, so I try not to do that – it’s just creepy. Because, really? What are you going to say when you keep looking back at some cute baby batting her big fat eyelashes at you until one of her parents turns around and frowns at you, as if to say WHAT is your major malfunction? “SHE STARTED IT!” I didn’t think so.)

Thankfully, our number was up RIGHT as Ms. Petunia Pickle Bottom decided to sit next to me with her little ringlet-curled angel (kill me now!), and I was able to escape without looking like I was off my medication.

Once we were finally seated, I excused myself to go to the restroom and splashed some cold water on my face. And then I ate an overpriced breakfast item not worth describing because after all the drama, it tasted like cardboard to me anyway.