All The Milky Babies . . .

Jen and I have discussed what would need to happen in order to feel comfortable taking Squeak to a restaurant. We haven't done it yet, mostly because it's a little too daunting. What happens if he cries? Needs to be fed? Needs to be changed? Needs to be changed while he's being changed?

If going to a restaurant is anywhere near the same as eating at home, then several things will happen. One, Monkey will immediately start crying. He's not doing this to be rude, of course — he just values the family eating together, which means that Jen has to feed him at the table. Given how much Jen has been feeding Mr. Baby, she has proven very adept at doing things with one hand these days. Unfortunately, this skill has not yet translated to using the full spectrum of flatware. Which means that certain dishes — those involving forks and knives, for example — are difficult. Which probably means that we shouldn't eat at any restaurant that features both forks and knives.

One thing we haven't been able to get on top of yet is instilling certain values in Animal. Chief of which here is the maxim, "Don't Shit Where You Eat." Because he certainly likes doing that — sometimes even shitting while he eats. Which of course means that we need to take time out to change him, he being sometimes fussy — understandably so — when having to eat with a diaper full of milky dookie.

Neither of these obstacles are dealbreakers in and of themselves. I feel that we can get away with taking The Little Emperor to a place that features picnic tables, preferably in a cavernous room that is mostly empty. That way we could walk around to soothe him, not disturb very many fellow diners and not cheese off the waitstaff in case they were trying to turn a table. Jen's thinking we can swing a church fish fry during Lent or something but I'm questioning the sourcing of the fish — just because we look like a bunch of high schoolers dragging around an infant simulator doesn't mean we can't enjoy our first big night out — we still like nice things!

I say this because I was interested to see the news about Jay-Z and Beyoncé's first lunch with their newborn:

Superstar couple Beyoncé and Jay-Z were spotted carrying their little bundle of joy in the West Village today, wrapped up against the cold just weeks after they posted adorable photos of the newborn online.

It was the first time the proud parents and baby have been spotted together in public since Blue Ivy was born Jan. 7. The family was seen heading into Sant Ambroeus restaurant for some lunch today.

That would be four-out-of-five-stars-on-Yelp-not-good-for-kids Sant Ambroeus. How did they do that? Where did Beyoncé nurse? Do they have changing tables?

And most of all, can the six of us do a playdate?

What If They Made Diapers With A Wet- Vac Attachment?

Just like what I said — it'd be like a breast pump, only much more useful.

On Riding Dirty

Every once in a while you'll see a story where a woman delivers a baby on a subway platform, at Penn Station, in the Queens-Midtown Tunnel or — as was the case a few days ago — the back of a cab:

"I said, no, don't squeeze, pull my pants down, there's a head there," [the mother] said.

The cab driver got out of his car at Greenpoint Avenue and waved orange flags directing traffic until two ambulances and six police cars arrived at the scene.

"I didn't even push it just came out."

When we took our childbirth cram class at the hospital, and the nurse-instructor went through the timeline of childbirth, she explained how we would know when to go to the hospital. In short, there's a "4-1-1" rule, meaning that you go to the hospital when you're having contractions four minutes apart, each lasting a minute, for an entire hour.

Some of us — read: us — who live on other sides of rivers sort of wondered if labor might happen very quickly and if so, worried that we might be stuck in a cab or train or whatnot when it happened. (If you look at the examples linked above, the common thread is that all these people live on the other side of a river.) So we asked the nurse: If labor really takes 12 hours or longer, then how come people always have babies on the subway?

It was simple, she explained, koan-like: The reason you're always reading about it is because it's so rare. And besides, she added, babies that are born on subway platforms, in the back of cabs and in Penn Station are so strong that we don't really have to worry about them. Which was reassuring. And now I look at these births a little bit differently.

For a while I almost wanted to roll the dice a little bit and take the subway to the hospital once the contractions got to that magic point — just in case Monkey was born at Queensboro Plaza (not exactly sterile but oh, what a view!). In retrospect, this would never have happened; there was no way Jen was going to get on a subway with contractions like she was having. I'm shocked any woman would get on public transportation with contractions like women have when they're in labor — which probably means that they weren't getting on the train in that condition in the first place, and it truly is extraordinary when they give birth in the stairwell between the 7 train and the Lexington Avenue line.