You never realize how much you miss the mundane dinner-and-a-movie date until you haven’t experienced one in a while. It’s been exactly five months and eleven days since Brent and I have had any sort of “date” night. I believe our last outing alone was the night before the arrival of the Bird and if I’m not mistaken we went out for ice cream. I haven’t mourned the loss of our alone time, spontaneous adventures, or extravagant date nights in any form, but (here’s that but again) last night we put on our fancy shoes and snuck out to Lyman’s one room movie house to watch the premier of “Lincoln” (which, yes, I am aware was released months ago…so we’re a little behind). Not only did we enjoy two and a half hours of an uninterrupted refresher course of my high school history class, but we even splurged on a pizza from our local ice cream and pizzeria shop (yup, same location as the pre-mentioned date night). It was nice to have the door held for me not because I’m carrying a baby, but just because he’s a gentleman and I’m a lady.
I’m not sure when it happened but all of the sudden the term “alone” seems like it became a curse word. Come to think of it, it probably started around September 14th. In our world, being alone meant not having Lilly within three inches. We are those parents who like to have their baby with them at all times. From the moment she was born, putting her down in the rocker seemed like she was wasting away. Showering alone was forbidden. And heaven help us if we tried to make her sleep in her crib…alone. I can’t even write this blog alone. I’ve gotten up three times since I wrote the first sentence. Date nights consisted of pizza (no, I don’t weigh 300lbs…yet) and all five of us cuddled up on the couch, catching an episode of Cops (or Pretty Little Liars if it was my night to choose). I always joke and say I never have an empty lap. If it’s not Lilly, it’s the cat Frankie, and just when I think I can stretch out on my own, Tank seizes his opportunity for his alone time with mom.
And ya know what, I’m in love with every fully occupied minute of my life. Completely and utterly in love. I wrote my last blog about my heart feeling so full that Brent’s must be lacking. “I don’t feel like I’m on the back burner,” he said “this is my family, this is how it’s supposed to be and I couldn’t be happier with our life.” Uh….dad of a lifetime award right here, folks.
We’ve had plenty of opportunities for a date night and plenty of offers for babysitters, but there is something about spending my Friday nights watching bird practice her newfound crawling skills babbling in excitement as she scoots closer and closer to an unsuspecting Zip. Or how as I write this I’m listening to the spatters of slobber drool out as bird tries to mimic her dad’s silly faces and the nonsense noises going back and forth as they imitate each other. With entertainment like this, who would want to be alone?
So the point of this blog? Maybe I’m trying to convince myself I really do indeed miss unaccompanied trips to the bathroom or sleeping in a position of my own choosing. Doubtful though. I think I’m subconsciously preaching to myself that being a young mom (of my own choosing) isn’t as radical as I once thought it was. Married and a baby by 24? Irrational and naive would have been the choice of words of my 18 year old self. But here I am, married and a baby by 24. I’ve never made a more prepared and thought-out decision in my life.
If I were alone I’d have clean floors, furless couches, and all the time in the world for crafting. If I were alone I wouldn’t be typing the blog with one hand and holding my baby with the other. If I were alone I wouldn’t have to start cooking Sunday dinner for my family. And lastly, if I were alone I wouldn’t have to end this blog to go on a walk with my boys and baby. Thank you to my wonderful providing God that I am indeed not alone.