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We’re getting more adventurous now our daughter is over two months old and we are less scared that we might break her (but still very, very scared that we might). We were out and about all day and so she came with us for an early dinner in a pizza restaurant. Even though she’d been good all day long, she was getting a bit tired by this stage and had a mini meltdown before our food arrived. Why was she behaving like this in public? I tried my mum’s line on her and said, “Phoebe, really, do you see any other babies behaving like this,” but it didn’t seem to work. I don’t know if that was because there weren’t any other babies in the restaurant or because Phoebe knows that all babies behave like this and she is much less cry-ey than most of them or if was because Phoebe doesn’t understand English. But I doubt this moment will be recalled by her in blog form in 40 years time.
I didn’t mind that she was crying, but worried about ruining the other people’s evenings. But most of the other people were in families and I could see that they weren’t cross, because they’d been through this themselves. I don’t think I would have been that bothered as a non-parent. Babies are pretty cute and funny and a crying one is good entertainment value. We were only in Zizzis. To be honest the grown-ups in the posh restaurant we were in for our wedding anniversary were a lot worse and they didn’t have the excuse of not understanding where they were, who they were or what social conventions were (actually they were so wasted that maybe they did have that excuse).
And once again I enjoyed the situation all the more for its familiar air of family. A pizza with just my wife would have been a pleasant though ultimately non-memorable event, but having to cut up my pizza and then eat it with my hands as I stood up by the table gently rocking my baby was a fun new twist. Phoebe was mainly good as long as I kept moving. And I will always remember this pizza. Think of all the forgotten pizzas. They were pretty much all great, but the memories blend into one delicious pizza. This one, with the additional topping of a crying daughter, will stay with me always.
And the people on the next table chatted to me about how old Phoebe was and what she weighed and looked on, I think, with a mixture of envy and relief. Babies are strange like this. In so many ways a human being is little trouble when it can’t walk or talk or do more than about five basic things. As tough as it can be, I know I am going to miss this time once she’s bigger and can answer back and get into strops about things that aren’t immediately solvable. I want her to grow up fast, but I want her to always be a baby too. Though ultimately that might be weird. I will look back like those other people, missing it, but delighted it's over as well.
I did a gig in a tiny backroom of a pub tonight. I noticed that when I did my Toploader material that it got a bigger laugh than usual and it transpired that they were playing the venue in a few weeks. I said, “Oh, if I’d known things had got so bad for them that they’d be playing a shit-hole like this I wouldn’t have taken the piss out of them.” Before making a face of awful realisation.
