Returned to the scene of the crime the other night, and actually had a wonderful dinner out with Thomas and Maeve. She was a delight, and since she’s recently had another verbal spurt, we were delighted to sit back and soak in her adorableness.
Our server’s phrase o’ the evening was “No problem.” So by the end of the meal, Maeve was declaring “No problem!” every few minutes. When other diners passed by headed to their table, she would sweetly say, “Hi!Howareyou?” (It sounds just like that, all one word, smooshed together.)
Maeve watched ever-so-closely as our plates were cleared and I could see the wheels turning. She looked confused, and as our server walked away with the remnants of a nice meal out as a family, Maeve called out to her, in a singsong voice: “Whereyagoing? Plate? Plate? Whereyagoing?”
The best part of the night– and by far the most memorable — was when we were leaving. Thomas had one hand of Maeve’s and I followed close behind, after gathering our belongings from the booth.
There was a crowd of folks coming into the lobby as we were trying to make our way through, which slowed our departure. But what really hindered our exit was the way Maeve was walking. She seemed to be struggling, as if her shoe were coming off, or her foot was caught on something. Since I was behind her, I couldn’t see what the hold up actually was, but I could tell she was reaching down in front of her with her free hand — but to do what, I had no idea.
Due to the bottleneck of comers-and-goers, I encouraged Maeve to move along faster, figuring once we made it throught the crowd, we’d stop and look at her shoe situation. So, like any good mama, I took her remaining free hand to help lead her through the crowd.
That’s when I realized the problem wasn’t about her shoe.
Ya see, she was wearing a dress. And suddenly — after I took her hand — she wasn’t wearing a diaper.
No, that now lay on the floor between her legs. In the restaurant. On the checkered floor. For all the world to see. I could see her pink Crocs amid all the white cotton cushioning and velcro.
Thank goodness my husband can act quickly in such bizarre public situations (Ask him about the time his shoelace got caught in the escalator at FAO Schwartz and his foot was pulled tightly to the floor, he was holding himself up from falling, and other escalator-goers behind him began to stack up. I panicked and took off, found a security guard and said “some man over there needs help.” I couldn’t “claim” him, then my boyfriend. I just couldn’t. Not until his foot was freed and the crowd disbursed. I know, I know. Terrible. I just don’t do well in these paralyzing moments. And yes, he married me anyway, folks.).
Fast-thinking Thomas gathered the diaper, the child and bee-lined it to the car. I followed, laughing so hard I had tears running down my face.
A few minutes later, when I’d calmed myself while Maeve was re-diapered by Daddy-Oh-So-Calm, and the car was finally on the move and headed home, a sweet, little voice emerged from the backseat:
(And in a most-inquisitive and surprised tone …)
What?! Happen?! Diaper?!
So, I ask you, what is it about me and this restaurant?