Mazzy has been walking for about six months. And every day I discover new supposedly "family-friendly" places that are now off-limits.

Like BOWLING ALLEYS. A few months ago, my husband's friend had a birthday party at Bowlmor Lanes. The invitation said everyone should bring their kids. Perfect, right? Yeah. Not so much.

For starters, every lane at Bowlmor has a huge flatscreen TV at the end of it. And along the wall are pink neon lit glass cases lined with shiny untouchable trophies calling your baby's name. And don't forget the plethora of 16lb. balls threatening to smash every tiny finger close enough to point and say— "BALL! BALL!! BALL!!!" Did I mention all the space to run around? Specifically, the 60 foot long lanes with the baby equivalent of a pot of gold on the other end? (Pot of gold = the flatscreen TVs in case you are having trouble following).

Did you know that Mazzy can run at the speed of light? Neither did I! Look away for a second to grab a chicken wing or a celery stick and that kid is GONE.

Also— she can climb steps! Including the two steps up into other people's bowling festivities!

And if I'm chasing after her and some people get in my way and I lose a few seconds because I have to manuever around them while Mazzy takes the shortcut through their legs? Well, then she might just run full speed towards that damn flatscreen. And then I'm left hoping nobody throws a bowling ball at me as I race awkwardly after her while apologizing profusely for interrupting the game and avoiding eye contact with pissy Bowlmor employees until I have sucessfully retreated back to my spot as far away from the party as possible.

That is, until my future Olympic sprinter makes another break for it.

After about a half hour, I left my husband there and took the baby home. Family-friendly is one thing. Toddler-friendly is another.

You know what else isn't toddler-friendly? SUPERMARKETS. My daughter knows her fruits and vegetables. She wants to touch every single one of them. And then drop them on the floor. And don't try to tell me to put her in the cart. She acts like a caged animal who has gone a full week without food in there. CHEESE! CHEESE! CHEESE! CRACKAS! CRACKAS! CRACKAS! It's a nightmare. Going to the supermarket has become a race to get back out the door the second I step inside.

Kind of like RESTAURANTS. Let me ask you something— when you tell the waiter that you need the check, WHY DOESN'T HE GET YOU THE DAMN CHECK?! Can't he see you have a SITUATION on your hands?

How 'bout a nice trip to a beautiful PARK BY THE WATER called the Sands Point Preserve? Mazzy should be able to run the grounds till her heart's content, right? NOT IF THOSE GROUNDS ARE COVERED IN GOOSE SHIT. I have pried countless leaves and sticks out of my daughter's mouth. But GOOSE SHIT??? There is no getting over that. I couldn't even put her down.

This, of course, was met with weeping, screaming, struggling and one final high pitched wail that sounded a lot like:


Sorry, babe. As always, we have to go home.


UPDATE: At some point, there will be a "You Can't Take A Toddler Anywhere, PART II". I left out way too many. Then again, you guys have other things to do, so that's probably a good thing. Feel free to help me build out my list in the comments below.