At eight months pregnant with my third child, I was feeling the weight of exhaustion and discomfort. All I wanted was some tacos, despite the inevitable heartburn that would follow. After attending Sunday church service, my mother and I decided to take my 18-month-old twins to a restaurant that felt like a dream come true for a pregnant woman.
Upon being seated, we found ourselves in a bustling area right next to a group of college students who began their meal with a prayer. As a mother of toddlers, I couldn’t help but worry about how they would react to my little ones’ antics—something no parent should have to think about in a family-friendly restaurant.
My twins had actually managed to remain relatively calm, playing with sugar packets and reaching for salt and pepper. As a former waitress, I knew they were not causing any real chaos. In fact, it was a minor miracle that they were sitting still long enough for my mom and me to enjoy our meals.
About halfway through, I noticed my mom shooting disapproving glances toward the nearby table. “Are they bothering you about the kids?” I asked. “That one keeps looking over here,” she replied, nodding toward the more vocal of the group.
In typical Mama Bear fashion, I turned and gave them a fierce glare, silently daring them to say something before I could finish my meal. To my relief, they quickly looked away. After we finished eating, my mom took the twins out to the car while I lingered to clean up the mess and settle the bill.
As soon as I was alone, I could feel their stares boring into me again. Frustrated, I called out, “Is there a problem? You’re going to hurt your neck with all that twisting to stare at me.” The youngest of the group, with a tone that dripped condescension, remarked, “Yeah… that’s a really big mess,” before turning away.
Honestly, I was grateful for her comment because as I crouched down to pick up the sugar packets, I was clearly too preoccupied to notice the mess I was cleaning. Feeling my face flush with anger, I retorted, “Thanks for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed. But I did notice that you’re quite the little brat, aren’t you?”
This prompted her older sister to jump in, shouting, “DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO MY SISTER LIKE THAT! I’m a waitress, and your kids’ mess is ridiculous!” Her finger was wagging and she was calling for support from nearby tables.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation, still bent over cleaning. They were going to regret this, I thought. Finally standing up straight, I stepped closer to her, realizing this was the first time they could see my pregnant belly.
“I’m a waitress too, and a kinder one than you, obviously. My husband’s family owns several restaurants in the city. Just so you know, this mess isn’t an issue. You are,” I said, locking eyes with her defiantly.
The other diners, most of whom had children, were now fully engaged in our escalating confrontation. I brought up the irony of her praying before the meal while berating a visibly pregnant woman afterward. Unsurprisingly, my comment didn’t sit well with her.
Cornered, she resorted to threats, declaring, “Well, don’t talk to my sister like that, or else…” I continued to chuckle, incredulous that she would confront an eight-month-pregnant woman. I glanced around at the other patrons, pointed to my belly, and asked, “Or else what? What are you planning to do to me, dear?”
At that moment, a father with three children stood up, causing the entire restaurant to go silent. Realizing the gravity of her words, she suddenly shifted gears, muttering to her friends, “L-l-let’s just go, guys!”
As they left, I saw the other tables giving her disapproving looks. I quickly apologized to everyone around for the disturbance, but they reassured me, “Don’t be sorry, honey,” sensing my distress.
If I could revisit that encounter, I’d love to inform the self-proclaimed “courteous” waitress that she had left her own server a meager tip. Being a caring mom, I made sure to take care of that as well. While I continued cleaning up the remnants of my twins’ meal, our waiter approached me and gently said, “Don’t worry about it! I’ll handle this. It’s no big deal.”
In conclusion, if you can’t handle children in a family-friendly restaurant, perhaps you should consider dining somewhere that doesn’t cater to kids—or risk coming face to face with a protective mama bear ready to defend her family.
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Summary
In a crowded restaurant, a confrontation arose between a pregnant woman and a group of college students over a mess left by her toddlers. Despite the initial hostility, fellow diners rallied around her, ultimately leading to the students’ retreat. The encounter underscored the challenges parents face in public spaces, especially when judgment comes from others.