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Going out to eat is practically a religious experience for me.

That is, of course, an exaggeration, but there are parallels. It’s ritualistic. It’s something I think about for weeks beforehand. It’s something I enjoy doing both alone and with others in a communal experience. It reminds me of my childhood. It connects me to my family.

Suffice to say, I love going out to eat. And that’s even with having a baby in tow, which is really saying something. Just like everything in life (read: skinny jeans, two-martini Tuesdays, and binge-watching seasons of Below Deck), I had to readjust my expectations when dining out with an infant. Here are some of the unexpected ways dining out changed when I had a baby.

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