Bringing Up Baby In A Bar
Child Rearing As A Good American
Toby Keith was a spiritual mentor to me. I don’t like Oliver Anthony’s whinging. I don’t like Marin Morris’ preaching. I love the bar. It’s my kind of place.
I like the way stale beer smells mingle with Fabuloso and Bar Keeper’s Friend. Bartenders want to know how I’m doing. Someone’s always around to bring me chicken tenders. When it’s time to transition an unexpecting acquaintance into a full-fledged pal, I make them meet me at the bar.
I am a Cheers American. As such, I have a civic duty to bring up my children in the way of the Bostonian bar fly. There are those who think this pursuit misguided, that it makes one “a fucking idiot.” It is for them, out of pity, magnanimity, and ancestral responsibility, that I now present five reasons your baby belongs in the bar.
Bars are built to take a beating.
There isn’t a better place on earth for a baby than a bar. The mid-level ambient noise perfectly tempers mild fussing sounds. Beer and ketchup spills so nicely mingle with spit up splotches. The eats are cheap, the drinks are discounted, and everything within reach was purchased with rough use in mind.
It doesn’t cost a lot.
Having a baby means the normal $30 you have to spend just to leave the house is now closer to $50. Save your budget and your husband’s hairline with an $8 draft.
Beer: The Unofficial Sponsor of La Leche League
They didn’t tell you this in Lamaze, but hops increase your supply.
It’s the best place to have a good cry.
I spent my 2023 Independence Day crying tears of joy into a Guinness glass at Samuel Beckett’s Pub in Shirlington, Virginia while Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” played over the speakers. Being a mother is emotional. Everything makes you cry.
At the grocery store, it’s a scene. At Target, it’s melodramatic. At home, it’s tragic. But at the bar, you are supposed to cry. Let the social climbing cubicle critters sneer at your Ergobaby carrier from their high tops. They don’t know what it means to feel, to live.
Slide in between the divorcees and the unemployed by the booths in the back. The Alive Girls and Boys understand, and welcome your vicissitudes as part of la rigueur.
Your childless friends will show up, and you won’t feel bad about it.
It wasn’t until I started inviting my twenty-something friends without children to go for 9:00am stoller walks, that I saw myself as the Difficult Friend. Before having a baby, I sewed chaos in mild forms, like bringing home a cat without telling my roommates or constantly trying to smoke inside. These are foibles people mostly laugh at and appreciate as idiosyncrasies.
Asking someone to Uber for 20 minutes to watch you nurse for 30 minutes before the next nap time is not endearing. It makes people wonder if your jokes are actually funny at all.
For the strength of your community, just go to the bar. In fact, if the friend is a good one, you might even get to drink a beer sitting down.