Last week, we spent a few days “up north-ish”. The Dude was out at his cabin hunting deer with my Dad, his Dad and my BIL and so my mom, Eva and I took off to my sister’s place for a few days.
While the boys are away the girls (and Little H) shall play.
I met back up with E on Friday and spent the rest of the weekend back at his parents house. We left to come home on Sunday shortly after church. Around 2ish, the babe was starting to get squirmy in the car and we were both hungry. We decided to stop to grab a bite to eat, feed the babe, and let her
be free from the awful confines of that carseat stretch for a little while.
The drive home from his parents house consists mostly of driving through little
hick towns. We normally stop to eat in a city closer to home but we knew none of our three stomachs could make it that long. So, we decided to stop at the next little town we passed through. There is a little chop house that we have noticed time and time again on our drive, so we thought we’d give it a try.
We walked in and immediately you could tell it was one of those places where they notice you if you have never been there before.
You know, one waitress, one cook, and a couple
drunk, smelly guys sitting at the bar downing beers at 1:30 pm on a Sunday afternoon. Yeah, that kind of place.
But the decor was cute and clean and the menu looked good so we stuck around. The waitress showed us that there was a back room with a fireplace going that no one else was seated in so we chose to take our seat there so I could nurse E in private.
When we sat down, the waitress followed us with menus and asked us a few questions about the babe. Name, age, weight .. you know, the usual. By now we’re pretty used to strangers being interested in our little bundle.
But this time … this time was different. This waitress came back. Again. And again. And again. Way more times than is usual. I mean, I know the place wasn’t busy – she didn’t have much work to do except serve the dudes at the bar more beer – but it was weird how often she came back to our table.
And each time, she chatted some more about Evalyn. She commented on her dress, she commented on the fact that her cheeks gave it away that I must be a nursing mother, she commented on her shoes … you know, she just kept talking about her and to her.
When she dropped off our appetizers, I had just finished nursing was burping E. Of course, she commented on the fact that E had just finished her lunch.
When she walked away, I said to the Dude, “I’m surprised she didn’t ask if she could burp her for me or something”.
He said it had crossed his mind, too.
We discovered there were no changing facilities in the washrooms at the place (FAIL), so he took her from me while I ate some soup and was changing her diaper and her clothes on his lap.
Enter waitress for the 52nd time. Surprise, surprise.
She was back with our food and talked about him changing her diaper.
And then it happened.
He finished buttoning up her sleeper, lifted her up to his shoulder, and all of a sudden, I’m not so sure how or why, but my child was being passed into the arms of psycho waitress 2010.
“I wondered when you were going to do that” she said as the Dude passed her off.
Okay, I took a deep breath in and out. She’s already told us she has a few of her own children, so clearly she can hold a baby. And of course, she was, as she told us, The Baby Queen. But, um, I was kind of weirded out.
I totally expected her to hold Evalyn for a second, goo and gaa over her, and then pass her back.
But she didn’t.
The next thing we knew, she had pulled up a chair from the table beside us, and sat down with our baby at our table.
Evan and I threw a little smirky glance at each other and started to eat.
“Pass me the cloth, I think she needs to burp”.
The Dude passed her the burp cloth and casually said, “Whenever you need to get back to work, just pass her back over”.
“Oh no. It’s okay. Those guys can wait .They don’t need anymore beer, anyway. Now you two enjoy your lunch”.
And we tried to. But it was somewhat difficult to enjoy it and have a conversation with her sitting right beside us, playing with our baby.
So we ate and engaged in some super awkward conversation. Every time we spoke to each other, we felt like we needed to include her in our conversation since, you know, she was sitting at our table with us.
But wait – there’s more!
We heard the phone ring behind the bar.
“Oh shoot, I’ve got to get that.”
Excellent, I thought …
She’ll hand Eva back to me so she can answer the phone.
But no, she didn’t.
Up she jumped, baby in arms and headed back to the front room, to answer the phone behind the bar. So now she was not only holding our baby but she was out of my line of vision as well. Perfect.
“DUDE – why did you give our child to her? Seriously!”
“You know she was never going to leave us alone until I did. I just thought she’d hold her for a second and then give her back.”
“Well, she better bring her back”.
And she did, of course.
And sat back down. And talked with us some more as we finished our lunch.
Finally, she said, “Well I better get back to work” and passed her back to me.
“Thanks for letting me hold your baby”.
Um, you’re welcome?
FYI - the food at the place was to.die.for and we probably will stop there again, despite the Crazy Baby Queen.