We walk in and I'm happy to see there are empty tables between those occupied by Sunday evening drinkers, keen to put off the beginning of the new week as long as possible. Last time we were here we couldn't get a seat.
We take our places towards the middle of the room and I try to ignore the stares. All too soon, they will be gone, my stomach deflated, novelty value worn off, or so I hope.
The beer comes for him; warm milk for me, with a chocolate and indulgent smile from the waitress. We talk about the coming days, weeks, years... speculate, laugh, admit our ignorance.
When it's time to leave, the waitress acknowledges the tip and asks when the baby is due.
'Er, yesterday actually' I smile, and her eyes widen as the girl on the table next to me gasps. She takes a step back to let me pass and I can't help feel it's also to move her into the safety zone, away from the potential explosion that could result from this dangerous character in her bar.
'Well, all my congratulations' she says, enthusiastically. I see relief in her eyes as I make it through the door and into the night, arm in arm with my giggling husband.