18 reasons bringing your baby to the bar makes you the worst
So, you're now the proud owner/operator of a brand new infant human. I'm happy for you, I guess. You've decided to raise it in the city, because you want to instill a sense of worldliness from a young age, and also because you don't want to live in the suburbs yet (mostly that, actually). Not how I'd handle it, but it's your call, New Parent!
Just do me (and literally anyone else who has yet to seek out and accept the burden of offspring) a favor, and don't bring your f*%#ing baby to the bar. Or brunch. Or anywhere else people without babies tend to congregate & drink. Contrary to what you may have heard about "rules", it's unacceptable under any circumstance.
Mommy bloggers & Cool Dads™ of Park Slope, South End, Noe Valley, Bucktown, Los Feliz, and whichever other once-fun neighborhoods around the country you've colonized with your boisterous brood: here are just a few reasons why your baby doesn't belong among the drinking public.
That thing is loud.
Blood-curdlingly, hellishly, piercingly loud. Screeches of joy, howls of discontent, screams at impossible decibel levels for no reason at all -- your baby is a one-stop shop for aural agony.
Having spent all of your time around this deafening creature, you've adapted your own volume. You're now yelling at me about school districts while your child drives a hot sound-poker into my brain.
It's awkward to curse in front of it.
I've been swearing since quite literally before this thing was born. Explain to me again why I can't drop an f-bomb around it without feeling like a criminal?
I am drinking in the immediate vicinity.
When I am drinking, I often: make sudden movements! Belch malodorously! Gyrate my hips in a sexual manner to attract potential mates! Browse Craigslist for potential mates! Weep uncontrollably!
No matter how cute it is, it's not that cute.
I'm not saying your baby is ugly, I'm saying all babies are ugly. Ask me one more time whether it looks more like you or the mother, and I'm going to tell you the truth: it looks like a bald alien with fifth disease. What?! I've been drinking!
Strollers and diaper bags are treacherous obstacles.
"Oh look honey -- here's a crowded space full of people with chemically impaired balance! It's the perfect place to park this erector set on wheels, right?"
Baby food doesn't smell like food-food.
Even the street meat I'm going to crush after this has a more pleasant aroma than whatever vile puree you're cramming into its gaping maw right now.
Drugs & nudity: both things that might happen in bars!
It's a little early in the kid's life for an accidental anatomy lesson.
Silverware: great for eating, extremely dangerous for throwing.
Why are you so astonished that your baby can pick up a fork? It has thumbs. Now it also has a projectile, and my face is well within range. I hate you deeply.
Seriously, make it stop crying. You can't, can you?
I can't pretend it's not bothering me anymore. You have to turn it off. Please.
I no longer have anything in common with you, and yet you insist on pretending we do.
You know what I care about? Me neither. But it's definitely not outrageous diaper prices and the best babysitter reference apps.
They steal the spotlight, which is a capital offense.
"Hey. Hey! I was just about to get to the punchline before that little turd distracted everyone with fart noises! VALIDATE ME, DAMMIT!"
Drugs & nudity: both things that do happen in bar bathrooms!
There's no changing table in there. Everyone just bangs rails off the counter, and each other on the counter. At least give your kid a shot at avoiding therapy.
They remind me of my uncertain future, which is exactly what I came here to ignore.
Sunday nights are for bouts of crippling existential doubt about what the next years hold in store for me. Bar sessions and boozy brunches are for not-that.
I don't care about your recent/upcoming wedding, and I don't want to talk about mine.
New baby = marriage (probably) = talking about everyone's wedding plans = me punching myself in the face.
You won't make any hilarious bad decisions, which is a bummer...
You used to be up for anything, man!
... or you'll make a lot of not-hilarious bad decisions, and I'm going to fear for the child's life.
Uh... you were kidding when you said that second boilermaker you ordered was "for the baby", right man? Please?
I didn't sire it -- don't make me suffer through it.
I know you're trying to teach your ear-splitting hellion that it won't get attention by screaming, but that noise is making this place unbearable. If only there was an alterna-- oh wait, why don't you just TAKE IT OUTSIDE, you inconsiderate twit?