A Romance Story.

Dear Googly-Eyed Romantic Datey Couple sitting at the next table over at Zoës,

Thank you for enjoying my baby boy as he made faces, giggled, smiled charmingly, and in general flirted with you.  I was honored to contribute to your holding of the hands and dreamily gazing into each other’s eyes, imagining such a creature of your own somewhere in the future.

After all, I’m sure it doesn’t look like it from your end, but it wasn’t so long ago that Chris and I were dreaming those very same dreams as we watched other people’s children do adorable things.

So it is with the deepest sincerity that I apologize for him choosing that moment to noisily and revoltingly gag on his crammed-full throat o’ fruit.

I am also sorry that you had to watch, horrified, as I calmly beat his back with one hand while positioning the other under his mouth in anticipation of what was to come.

Furthermore, I apologize that you had to lose your appetite for both food and romance while watching him upchuck giant fistfuls of fruit, tossed in a fresh au jus of saliva, directly into my hand.

I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant to watch me dump my handful of gag into an empty fruit cup, then immediately return to using that same hand to cut up the rest of his dinner.

(Yes, my hand did smell a little funky.  Thanks for caring.)

He didn’t, I’m sure, add to the enjoyment of the envisioning of your future when he took the amount of au jus he had managed to swipe for himself and very methodically mousse his hair with it.

Nor did I, by going about my business and eating my dinner – again with my slightly putrid hand.

So anyway, since I wasn’t too helpful with my dinner illustration, I thought I would answer some questions about your future.

Yes, this is exactly what that googly-eyed romance leads to.

No, it’s not always like this.

In fact, he almost always prefers to noisily poo during dinner instead.

But really.  I know that getting an eyeful of that particular reality wasn’t exactly encouraging of your romantic notions, but when it’s puke coming from your own creation, as a result of your own googly-eyed romance, I promise that even catching it with your bare hands can be charming.

Okay.  Maybe not in that moment.

But when you take your vomit-crusted, fruit-covered, overly-juicy baby home,


And give him a good scrub to remove their outer film of nast,


You will be able to see that he is the absolute perfect culmination of googly-eyed romance.


And you will find yourself staring at him, overcome with love – for both him and the one with whom all of this started.


A still googly-eyed-in-love romantic.