So, Magoo, after weeks of talking about it, I finally dragged myself out of bed early enough to take you out to breakfast. The idea was to give your mom a break so she could get some rest. But I think she spent the whole time worried that our first public outing would result in lots of screaming and crying (and that you might get upset, too).
It didn't get off to the best start, as five minutes after we left the house, I found myself in the back of the nearby library parking lot fumbling around in the back seat trying to prepare a couple ounces of formula to quiet you down. It turned out the bottle I cleaned in anticipation of our trip didn't get as clean as I thought. So I drove us back home, ran upstairs and quickly cleaned the bottle again, returning to your side and making a second attempt to put together your bottle. This time, I dropped alll the various pieces on the flloor. So I had to run back up the stairs and finallly got the cleaning right as your mom told me to "calm down."
Off we went to breakfast.
The trip went smoothly, and I was feeling pretty confident. Until I noticed all the cars in the parking lot. The place was packed. I admit it was fairly intimidating. I was hoping this would be my regular spot, but if I screwed this up, it might be my last visit.
Of course, I walked in the wrong door, which meant I had to haul you through the entire dining room to the front door where the hostess would seat us. I could feel the glare of all those eyes -- and sense their thoughts. But it wasn't the usual, "Who dresses that man?" Instead, I sensed a "Why is that man dressed like a hobo carrying a newborn baby? Look how cute that baby is. You think that guy stole him?" vibe.
To clarify, son, I was wearing a typical outfit (sorry Jason Isbell's dad): sleeveless shirt and worn-out jeans (they're light green, but your mom insists they're gray; your mom can''t see well). It probably didn't help that I hadn't shaved in about six weeks. But when you have a child, you will understand my even-more-laissez-faire-than-usual attitude toward fashion on this particular day.
Ultimately, you mostly slept through the coffee and the ensuing oatmeal I ordered. There was a short outburst a few spoonfuls in, but the pacifier solved that. I was actually becoming very comfortable with us hanging out and figured I'd ask for a refill. But before I had the chance, the waiter dropped off the check and, unprompted, asked me if I wanted a coffee to go. "Uh, yeah," I stammered. I initially thought the guy sensed I may have been in over my head and was looking for a quick exit. More than likely, though, the manager told him to get $10 from the hobo and shoo him away. :)
All in all, Magoo, I enjoyed our time together. At this point, I don't get to see you as much as I'd like, between me working and you sleeping. The trepidation I felt when we first left the house had subsided completely by the time we got back. It was a good time, a good start to a lifetime of small, but meaningful meal moments (sort of a Pallister tradition). As I type, I'm already looking forward to the next one, thinking maybe I'll shave and wear sleeves so all the stares will be directed toward the cute little guy in the car seat.
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