What a fucking night! Little man lost his shit at the local Mexican restaurant. Ok, problem solving time. He already had a bottle, he's a little wet (but it can wait until we get outside), walking around isn't doing the trick. Hmmm.
I wonder why those people decided not to sit back here? Why is that couple ( who is obviously not married because they're sitting next to each other in the booth) staring and rolling their eyes at us? Why is that old man trembling like he's about to go into shock?
I must've blacked out from the baby screams. I've been in daddy mode and didn't realize that the entire restaurant would love nothing more than to roll me and my little bundle of joy in a big-assed tortilla and beat us like a adolescent dick.
As I snap into reality and attempt to vacate in fear for my son's life it becomes clear that I have had it all wrong throughout the years. There's no reason to be mad at those parents that bring little tykes out in public. Why?
What I didn't realize until tonight is that when that baby starts screaming, parents go into "Tard-mode". All the beautiful thoughts of the last time they got it on or what they're gonna do with a little free time turn into a mild catatonic state in which puppy farts can be heard in the parents brain. I didn't hear him crying. I just knew what I had to do. Food, poop, or comfort.
However, when I came to all I know is my wife was holding a sleeping baby, we were at home, and I was blogging....
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