Dear _________,

Let me begin by saying, yes, I know I have the cutest little boy, ever. And while I enjoy and appreciate the fact that, well, just about everyone, thinks so too, but a line needs to be drawn someplace. Over the last week and a half Devin and I have had a conversation multiple times. We feel like monkeys in a zoo. When we are out to eat, people feel the need to talk to us and ask all kinds of questions about Collin. It seems as though we spend more time talking to random strangers about our son, rather than talking to each other and eating. So, I decided to write them all letters.

Dear Woman at Sonny’s across the isle,

He’s eight months old. Thank you he is adorable. Now, please pay attention to your husband/boyfriend/brother/friend you are with. You are here to eat with him. Not to talk to us. No really. We’d like to eat too. Please. Stop staring at us.

Dear Woman at McDonald’s and your elderly mother,

He’s eight months old. I’m sorry my son dropped a fry on the floor. You didn’t need to come over and pick it up just so you could ask me how old he is. Your mother is a cute old lady that reminds me of my grandmother who I miss greatly. It’s nice that you have three grandchildren and your mother has five great grandchildren. May I finish feeding my son and myself now?

Dear People of Panera,

Old man in the corner booth- please stop making faces at my son. I’m obviously trying to feed him. I’m obviously by myself. I’m obviously having a difficult time doing so. You are not making things any easier by distracting him. Every time I almost get him to take a bite, you make a face and he turns his head.

People who work at Panera- I ordered my salad with no pecans and extra dressing. I didn’t want to have to walk back up here with my son to have to ask for extra dressing or to pick the pecans out of the salad. I also would like for the woman walking around refreshing students’ coffee to ask me if I need anything. The woman, alone, with the baby. I actually need a spoon, because you opted not to give me one with my soup. I guess the pecans can replace the spoon.

Obnoxious boys in the booth across the isle behind us- just SHUT UP! Yes, there is a baby over here. Thank you for being the “what not to be" example.

Dear Woman at Chili’s who just-so-happen-to-get-seated-next-to-us,

He’s eight months old. Oh your daughter is nine months old? That’s nice. I got my Tiny Diner from Babies’R’US. I also got the high chair cover from there as well. Yes, he’s eating Goldfish, and yes those are Teddy Grahams. He’s got two teeth. Yes, they are on the bottom. Oh, your daughter has two teeth on the bottom to? That’s nice. Yes, he is wearing shoes. Yes, I can see your daughter is not. That thing attached to his sippy cup is a NoThrow. It keeps him from throwing his cup on the floor. Yes, you probably could make one yourself. No he’s not walking just yet. Yes his is crawling. Yes, he is trying to walk. He’s close. Ok, we are going to go now. No we aren’t from here, so no, I’m sorry, we can’t have a play date.

Dear Waitress at IHOP, who isn’t our waitress,

He’s eight months old. It isn’t necessary for you to walk by our table every 5 minutes to tell me how handsome my son is. I already know that.  No…no… he’s not your fiancé That’s not cute, just a little creepy. 

Dear people-of-the-world,

He’s eight months old. I know my son is adorable, handsome, cute, and another attractive term you’d like to use. His smile is amazing, his little giggle is the best thing in the entire world. He is a very well behaved boy. I know I am very well prepared and my high chair cover, tiny diner, and NoThrow, are great things. May we please eat our meal in peace now? Without you smiling, waving, and making faces at us?

 

Thank you,

Erin