On Sunday afternoon the entrance of restaurant Milano on Dawson Street resembles a parking lot for strollers.
Next to our table a young couple with their two young children were eating a pizza.
After a few bites one of the children threw a fit.
Whatever the parents tried the child wouldn't stop crying.
The father stepped outside with the toddler.
The mother tried to finish her pizza but it was clear that she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
For the first time that I realized that parenthood is war. It’s not something you should do with your beloved one – it’s something you should do with the assistance of a platoon sergeant, a nurse, a cook and a couple of dogs.