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I am constantly overwhelmed with joy and excitement for new moms and dads.

What is it all about?
by Lisa Baron

I think I brought my baby to a bar. I am still not 100 percent sure. Micah, Jimmy and I were in Phoenix, Arizona, visiting my family; we were celebrating my brother’s 30th birthday and we went out to dinner. My sister, who has two small children, made the reservation, and I trusted her with these details. But from the looks of things it didn’t impress as the type of joint that offered a kid’s menu. My first clue that I may have crossed the line of acceptable places to take my 6-month-old son was the dim lighting and techno music. My second clue was the hostess, who was as sweet as can be, mind you, but wasn’t wearing a skintight black skirt and shear blouse to impress the soccer moms. (Personally, I was jealous, not impressed).

I worried that I would end up living out a scene from a Reese Witherspoon movie. You know, where you run into an old high school buddy and she looks at you and then looks at the baby and says, “You brought your baby to a bar.” But no one else seemed to mind, so we followed the curvy hostess to our table, thankfully tucked back into the corner.

It was going to be dining with the single and fabulous…and my infant. I needed a drink. Halfway through my wine some very good friends of my brother’s joined our table. It was Adam and his wife, Mindy, who was five months pregnant. Looking at a pregnant woman, I am reminded of the hopeful anticipation I felt every day as my belly grew larger and Micah’s kicks turned from light taps to strong thumps. I am constantly overwhelmed with joy and excitement for new moms and dads. But I was beginning to believe that this new mom and dad were growing a little less excited and a bit more anxious as they saw what it’s like to bring a baby to a restaurant – any restaurant – especially ones with techno music and uni-sex bathrooms.

“You are going to love being a mom,” I yelled over the restaurant’s roar. “It’s better than you ever imagined it could be.” Right on cue, Micah spit out his sweet potatoes all over my white blouse. Then he started whimpering (maybe he didn’t like techno music either). Before long the whimper turned into a full cry, which sent Jimmy and me into a scramble. “Where’s his bottle?” I asked sternly. “I thought you brought it,” Jimmy replied. Soon Micah’s nose was running and the closest thing we had to wipe it was the restaurant’s fancy black napkin. While Jimmy was frantically searching for Micah’s beloved bottle, I was rocking the stroller and singing every song I could think of to get Micah back to a state of calm.

To me parenting isn’t about wiping noses, hoisting bottles, rocking the stroller or freaking out that you are horrible mother because you just brought your infant into a meat market – although that’s part of it, too. Being a mom is about the private moments. It’s about your baby’s first smile or the way he looks up at you first thing in the morning from the crib. It’s about splashing in the bathtub and warm cozy nights cuddled up reading books or gently rocking him back to sleep with a lullaby. It’s about the delight that comes from recognizing your husband’s dimples in your baby’s smile. It’s about togetherness and closeness. It’s about being a family.

As Jimmy was busy packing up six pounds of gear (that failed to include a bottle) to take the us home, I hugged Mindy goodbye. “Don’t look so scared,” I whispered. “This tiny bit of inconvenience is nothing compared to the heaps of reward that come with being a mom.” As we waved goodbye, I saw my niece and nephew quietly coloring with crayons. Then I saw my sister, waving a bright red piece of paper in the air. It was a kid’s menu. “I told you so,” she said smugly. Apparently the place was one of those restaurant-bar deals where you go to have dinner and stay to have drinks…for a very long time. Maybe that’s because you brought your kids.