There is nothing like a lunch out with a friend and her five-month old baby.
When I met Danielle at a local, Mexican restaurant with Reed, I noted how big Reed had gotten since I saw him two months ago -- two months means a lot when you're only five months old.
Blog readers: Ya think?
At 11:45 and right before the slam of the lunch crowd, we met at La Parilla, our favorite haunt, and sauntered in and secured ourselves a booth.
Danielle and I look at each other and grinned: Booyah!!!! Score!
Booths are important tables to secure at this particular restaurant -- trust me -- tables are a high traffic area -- and you find yourself rushing your taco.
She put Reed (whom I call Pip -- long story -- and kind of lame, anyhow -- but I'm sure those of you who know anything about high school English classes -- know Pip), still instilled in his baby carrier, complete with dangling stuffed toys, beside her on the seat, and we proceeded to order.
We come here often enough that we hardly look at the menu.
Danielle: Lunch special number three.
Me: Two soft tacos and a side of sour cream.
After the waiter took our order, Danielle asked me if I'd like to hold Pip.
Me: Sure. Pass him over.
She handed him over the table, and we talked about how babies are all about "poop and puke." I had meant to bring my camera, but Danielle fished hers from her roaming luggage (the mess of stuff a mother has to carry around in order to transport a baby anywhere) and proceeded to snap photos of Pip and me.
As if I could be more entertaining than a couple of dangling stuffed toys on his baby carrier, I was playing with Pip like he was bored... poking him in the belly, making noises at him, and trying to amuse him with faces and gestures. When he didn't seem particularly impressed, I decided to hold him up in the air over my head, an act of babysitting that I learned from my limited time with my own nieces and nephews, who never failed to gurgle and grin when they were held aloft.
As I swung him high, Pip decided that this was so much fun that he would share his most recent meal with me. He's that kind of guy.
Pip (grinning like a fifty-cent drunk): Blech. Hurl. Blech. Hurl.
It was like sitting under a large bird .
White and wet and sticky, Pip's puke landed on my shirt and in my lap -- but thankfully, not in the salsa or on the chips.
Pip: Burp. [grins wickedly]
Danielle, who had been clicking away, looked up and said, "Oh no, did he throw up on you?"
Me: Yeah, a little, but I shouldn't have swung him like he was a baby ape.
Danielle reaches into her bag and gives me a nice, clean cloth diaper to clean up myself, but when she comes around the table and sees the extent, she's all "Oh no. Oh no."
Me: It's okay. Just let me skedaddle to the restroom and use some disposable paper to rid me of the chunkiest.
Yeah, that's what happens when a woman, who has only been an aunt, decides to crank up a baby to make it giggle. I should have just told him some jokes.
We enjoyed our lunch, and Pip, feeling pretty good after such a satisfactory blarch, took a long nap.
I love babies -- such a great size -- and they don't talk back -- but, you know, I forgot that particular side effect. :)