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.
After all, I need something
to blog about.
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