Your cart is currently empty!
This Time It Wasn’t Me
My husband, Jake, asked me at least fifteen times if I wanted to see the new Star Wars movie. He and our 8-year-old son, Max, had plans to go on opening night, and this time, Jake wanted the whole family to join. I was interested in the film, but he also suggested we bring our 3-year-old, Leo.
While Leo has improved since the “terrible twos,” I knew this would be his first movie experience, and I doubted he could sit still for the entire duration. I just couldn’t relax knowing I’d spend the evening chasing him around or trying to keep him entertained. Honestly, I’d rather stay home than shell out twenty bucks just to miss the movie.
So, I hesitated. I told Jake he could handle Leo if we went, but then I realized it would be easier to hire a babysitter for him while the rest of us enjoyed the film. It turned out to be a perfect solution. Leo got to play with toys, and Jake, Max, and I had an incredibly smooth evening.
It felt almost surreal. We stopped at Chik-fil-A near the theater for a light dinner before the show. I’m so used to managing everyone’s needs, worrying about spilled drinks and snack wrappers. But this time it wasn’t me.
At the table next to us, two little girls with matching hair bows squabbled over who got to sit next to their dad. I recognized the exhausted expressions on their parents’ faces. A mom wheeled her baby in one of those big plastic chairs while balancing a tray of food. I smiled at her as she settled in, remembering when I navigated similar chaos. But this time it wasn’t me.
I watched as Max sat quietly, eating his meal without pretending the table was a spaceship or doing acrobatics in his chair. There was no fussing or reminders to sit down and eat. I once carried this boy, then a wailing toddler, out of this very restaurant. This time, there were no tantrums. This time it wasn’t me.
I savored my complicated salad uninterrupted, with no ketchup smudges on my arms. Our table was enveloped in a comfortable silence. I observed a young boy racing across the dining area in his socks, zipping in and out of the play area. His frazzled mom repeatedly asked if he was done eating. This time it wasn’t me.
For the first time in ages, I didn’t have that “mom tunnel vision.” I could truly take in my surroundings—the sounds of children playing, the laughter echoing from the play area. I glanced at Max and felt a twinge of worry. He was so calm and composed that I feared he might soon think restaurant play areas were too childish. And then I felt a pang of nostalgia for Leo.
Jake wrapped his arm around me and joked about how to fill the sudden extra time we had. I laughed, realizing we were at a bit of a loss for what to do with this unexpected ease in our evening.
As our leisurely meal came to an end, Max asked, “Can I go to the play place?” Oh, thank goodness!
“Yes, but we only have about ten minutes before we need to leave,” I replied, and he bolted off.
Afterward, as we walked to the theater, I held Max’s hand just a bit longer than usual, and he didn’t pull away. He asked for cotton candy at the concession stand, and I relished the fact that he was still young enough to enjoy play areas, to hold my hand, and to want cotton candy. I counted my blessings. This time it wasn’t me.
Maybe that mom tunnel vision isn’t so bad after all. When we realize changes are ahead, all those little kid moments become even more precious. I appreciated the night away from our toddler and thoroughly enjoyed the movie. I looked forward to picking Leo up afterward, knowing one day he would grow up, and it would be me.
If you’re interested in more about pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy. You might also want to explore this link for more insights and information. And if you’re considering home insemination, this site has some great options to help you along the way.
Summary: The author reflects on a rare, stress-free evening out with her husband and older son while leaving their toddler with a babysitter. She enjoys the ease of dining out without the usual chaos, as well as the bittersweet realization of how quickly her children are growing up.