Have screaming baby, will travel

I guess I should just cut and paste the phrase "when I was on vacation.." to use for the next twenty or so posts since it seems every entry starts with it lately. Sorry folks, but having three blissful days away from the kiddies gave me lots of time to think and ideas aplenty were recorded via Blackberry to be shared with you all upon my return.

So "when I was on vacation" this past weekend, I noticed a disturbing trend among upper-middle class Caucasians in their mid to late thirties who have children and a little cash to throw around. They think it is appropriate to bring their kids every-damn-where. I am not kidding. Let me give you the run-down on my trip and subsequent interaction with these idiots before you think I am overreacting.

My observation of this phenomenon began while walking around some of the tourist attractions of our destination city. Around lunchtime the sidewalks were crowded with parents pushing babies and toddlers, prostrate with exhaustion, to yet another museum or through the doors of a bistro for lunch. Later that evening, Hubby and I were enjoying $15 dollar cocktails in the lounge of our five star hotel, listening to the jazz ensemble, when Hubby whispers, "It's time for Junior to go to bed." as he points out the three year old stationed at the bar raking his fingers through the mixed nuts. After enjoying our libations, we proceeded to one of the city's best restaurants where I had made a reservation three months in advance and Hubby was required to wear a jacket. Upon finishing our entrees around ten thirty I thought I heard a baby cry. Whipping my head around, as do all mothers of infants, I could not locate the source and thought I was suffering from post-traumatic stress-induced hallucinations. A moment later, I heard it again and, this time, so did Hubby. This went on a dozen or so more times before I went to powder my nose (read: investigate). It seems there was semi-private room around the corner where a family was having dinner and parked right next to the table was a Bugaboo stroller with an, approximately, eight week old in it.

The next day, we were repeating our pleasant morning routine of having coffee in the Zen garden before heading up to the club level for breakfast when a father and his four year old came into the garden with a baseball and mitts! and started up a lively round of catch. Peace and quiet shattered, we headed upstairs where once we entered the usually silent atmosphere of the Asian-inspired dining room we were greeted with the dulcet tones of Sponge Bob Square Pants coming from the flat screen TV over the dining room's bar. Right in front of it were two brothers, approximately seven and nine sporting the required ensemble of the modern day boy - bed-head, baggy clothing and a blank stare - who proceeded to chase each other around the table with their mother whispering, "I told you to stop it!" Needless to say I took my mimosa to go.

What the hell is going on here? I was not at Disney World, Sesame Place, or Great Adventure. My swank hotel was not a Motel 6 or Red Roof Inn. I purposely shelled out good money to be ensconced in luxury far, far away from the din of the masses, my own children included (yes, I am a snob, and am not afraid to say I do not enjoy vacationing with "the people") and yet here I was smelling the stench of chicken fingers and being acoustically assaulted by cartoon characters before I had reasonably managed my hangover.

We all know who these people are. Sadly, I was probably friends with many of them before I had kids, but the fact that I had a baby and refused to go out to dinner on a moment's notice and "just bring the baby!", then stay out until midnight was distasteful to them and we parted ways. Now these people, bored with spending every Saturday in Pottery Barn, decided maybe procreating might be fun (and "I can buy an $800 stroller!") and not change their lives on iota for this child. Kid needs to nap? Do it in the stroller. Mommy needs a mani-pedi. Mom and Dad want to try that new sushi place and can't find a sitter? Bring Junior along and sit him at the table with his DVD player.

Well, if I can wait to go out to a grown up dinner until someone can watch my kids, so can you. It's called being a grown-up. Guess what? You had a kid! Your life is going to change, genius, stop screwing up my dinner. So I am giving notice. THIS BEHAVIOR MUST END. Listed below are some rules for these morons.

1. You may not bring your child to any restaurant that does not feature chicken fingers on the menu or use paper table cloths unless they are extraordinarily quiet and well behaved (and no, being lulled into a stupor by electronic devices does not count). That being said, all restaurant privileges for any child are suspended after 9:00pm. This rule also extends to infants, smart guy. Just because a child is young enough to sleep in a portable device does not mean said infant will actually sleep. I do not need my foie gras with a side of colic, thank you.

2. Sweet, fancy, Moses if I hear another crying baby or child in a movie theater I am going to go postal. I'm not talking abut the one o'clock show of Ratatouille either. I mean the ten o'clock show of Saw II. If it's not rated G, your kid shouldn't be there past 7:00pm. Or just wait until it comes out on DVD, rent it and forget to return it like I do. At least there's wine at home.

3. Speaking of wine...UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES IS IT APPROPRIATE FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF SIXTEEN TO BE IN A BAR. At least a sixteen year old can try to use a fake ID. I lose my appropriateness-filter when I drink so it is at your own risk you combine, me, wine and your child in an atmosphere that is supposed to be child-free. I will not make him cry, but I can't say the same for you.

4. There is no way I can cover every possible scenario, but let's just say your child does not belong in any over-priced, obviously adult spaces such as swank hotels, lounges, and coffee shops. Starbucks? Knock yourself out, it's a caffeinated playground, but a patisserie? Shut up and get out. See the difference?

The point is, NO ONE LIKES YOUR KID EXCEPT YOU. Hell, I have days I don't even like my own so why should I extend such a courtesy to a kid who's idiocy is reminding me I actually have offspring on a child-free second honeymoon or even dinner-date? Look, I get it. It's a drag not being able to go everywhere you want when you want to, but that's the price you pay for being a parent, and yes, it stinks. We all thought our lives would hardly change when we had kids*, but for everyone's sake, especially yours if I have been drinking, get a sitter or stay home. Otherwise, I can not be held responsible for my actions and that will be scarier to your kid that any R-rated slasher movie.

*Yes, B, I'm talking to you. Remember your trip to Martha's Vineyard wit that French woman who nursed her kid through a ten o'clock dinner? Please.