MY husband and I have decided for our own sanity to reinstate ‘date night’ – and last Friday, for the first time since the baby was born, we went out alone.
“Don’t rush back,” we were instructed by the babysitting grandparents, as we haphazardly pulled on coats and shoes. “Take your…”
I slammed the door and we ran for the car.
Within seconds there was nothing but a Smith-shaped cloud of dust outside the house.
“Ohmygod! This is SO EXCITING!” I shrieked, as I pulled a lipstick from the depths of my handbag.
“Look at this – I’m putting on mascara and everything! I haven’t worn make-up in FOREVER!”
“We’re FREE!” laughed Smithy hysterically. “We could go anywhere! ANYWHERE!”
Eventually we vetoed driving to Manchester Airport and flying off to the Bahamas (“I don’t think I’ve left enough expressed milk for that,” I said sadly) and the cinema (why would I want to sit in the dark when I’ve gone to the effort of getting dressed?) and we settled on going for a meal.
“I’d forgotten non-microwaveable food existed!” whispered Smithy reverently, as we surveyed the menu 15 minutes later.
“Not a ready meal lasagne or packet of crisps in sight!”
I gazed adoringly at the waiter as he brought over my large glass of wine.
“Look at all these people,” I breathed. “Real, grown-up people!”
For the first time in nine weeks I ate an entire meal with both hands.
I also went three hours without singing a nursery rhyme, hiding my face behind my hands or asking in a goo-goo voice ‘who’s a gorgeous girl then?’
And apart from a brief wobble when I pretended to go to the loo but actually phoned home for an update, my husband and I managed to sustain an entire adult conversation without interruption.
At the end of the meal we reluctantly pulled our coats on and headed out to the car.
Then Smithy turned to me and said suggestively: “We don’t have to go home just yet.
“We could always find a secluded spot, park the car and…y’know…”
I gasped in shock.
He nodded naughtily.
“Yes,” he said. “We could go somewhere quiet and have a sleep.”
A handbrake turn later and there was nothing but a Smith-shaped cloud of dust on the car park.
Article first published in The Westmorland Gazette on April 30, 2015