I know I have a cute baby. As her mother I’m well aware of this. I mean, I sometimes just sit and stare at her because she’s so gosh darned beautiful. So when people want to take a peek at her in public I understand.
But stop. touching. my. baby!
When Jared took us out to eat there were (I kid you not) three separate members of the restaurant staff and one customer who came and bothered us. And when I say bother I don’t mean the usual, “Oh she’s so cute! How old is she?” kind of bothering. I mean the kind of bothering that inspires an inner dialogue not unlike the following:
“Um…could you not touch my baby? I don’t know you and you did not ask if I’m OK with it. And, excuse me but I don’t get out of the house enough as it is and when I do get out with my husband and brother in law I don’t want to spend that time listening to you talk baby talk to my baby I want to spend that time WITH MY FAMILY. And, gah! Why are you still touching my baby! Um…no strange lady I’ve never, ever met you may NOT hold my baby while I pick out my food. Geez! Why are you touching my baby! You do realize I had personal space and while you’re violating my baby’s personal space you’re also violating mine? Um, wow…thanks waitress. I really wanted to know all about how your daughter sasses your ex husband and how gleeful that makes you. STOP. TOUCHING. MY. BABY!!!“
Or, you know…something like that.
Next time this happens I’m gonna have to not be such a wuss and actually tell people (as politely as possible) what I’m really thinking because the idea of spending another meal feeling harassed and uncomfortable when I should be laughing and enjoying time with my loved ones makes me want to not get out of the house after all.
But the food was good!