This essay was published by Scary Mommy on August 14, 2018
When my son was a baby, he and I ventured out into the adult world. Our mission lacked the cinematic complexity of saving the Earth from an alien invasion or defusing a bomb while wearing a leather dominatrix outfit. That winter afternoon, my mission was this: drive to a strip mall by my parents’ home while they watched my toddler so I could return some shoes I’d bought while still pregnant.
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A version of this essay was originally published in ScaryMommy.com on Feb. 25, 2017
I see you, Mama, pacing from room to room, recalling what still needs to be packed for tomorrow. You pause by the sleeping baby’s crib, in awe of his eyelashes and his measured breathing, unsuspecting that tomorrow someone else will be reading him his favorite bunny story and putting him down for nap time.
You try to cook as much as possible to prepare for your upcoming 11-hour, perhaps 12-hour, absences. You bought a crockpot and bookmarked recipes online; you stocked up on groceries as if Armageddon is fast approaching, and now your freezer door won’t close.
This post was republished by ScaryMommy.com on April 9, 2016, titled “Why an Elaborate Date Night Doesn’t Do It for Me.”
A date night for new parents is all about precious currency: money and time. And unrealistic expectations.
Factor in the prep and travel time – and the mental energy it takes to not obsess over whether your child, potentially hungry and/or neglected by a vodka-guzzling babysitter, is weeping into a teddy bear, drenched in snot and inconsolable tears.