-While I enjoyed the brightly colored “Boppy™” pillow that supported me and the courtesy of the classic — and classy — spit rag tucked under my chin, the waitstaff dressed casually and the television had a re-run of24 on a DVD that liked to skip. On the other hand, the room felt very homey. We were even seated in a recliner.
-Despite my best efforts to obtain immediate service with the time-honored tradition of bawling my lungs out into the server’s ears, it was nearly five whole minutes before I was presented with food. That’s a large percentage of an 88-day-old’s life. If you are 35 years old, that would be equivalent to waiting over twelve hours. The only redeeming value was the courtesy diaper change… but that diaper needed to be changed.
-By strategic use of intestinal sounds and sporadic temper tantrums, I ordered simethicone, which is sometimes called “anti-gas drops.” While I had anticipated glassware such as a champagne flute, the chef adjusted — without being asked! — to my high expectations and delivered it in a dropper. It tasted vaguely of something sweet, like perhaps bubble gum, which I am looking forward to trying once I have teeth.
Course 1: A+
-The chef had lovingly prepared for me a serving of breastmilk, pumped and bottled and then fortified with doctor-prescribed formula additive. Delicious! I was so focused on the food that when the course was complete, I was surprised to see my server still attending to me. With his encouraging thumps to the back, I was pleased to find the burpy aftertaste had lost none of its original charm.
Course 2: A-
-The second course, served immediately after burping, was additional breastmilk from the same fortified batch. I took more time with this course, savoring the flavor now that my initial need for sustenance had been calmed. I struck up a conversation with my server in which I attempted to communicate through a series of coos and extended vowel sounds (in between gulps), but the server, who referred to himself in the third person as “Daddy,” insisted on telling me all about writing and making cheesecake and something called “football.” His prattling had begun to annoy me when it dawned on me that he was actually the proprietor of this establishment. That made him a bit more tolerable.
Final Course: B+
-The last course, also after a vigorous round of burping, was identical to the first two. By this time I was growing sleepy and I preferred to let the milk accumulate in my mouth until I swallowed or until it dribbled out. My one complaint was that “Daddy” was a little trigger-happy with the spit rag; there’s nothing wrong with letting a little milk pool on your chin, I’ve always believed.
Final grade: A-
-“Daddy’s Arms” is not without its charm, but all in all I have always preferred tap over bottle — something Daddy does not offer.