My partner, Jake, asked me countless times if I wanted to catch the latest Star Wars film. He and our 8-year-old, Ethan, had planned to see it on opening night, and this time, Jake wanted the whole family to attend. I was indeed excited to see the movie, but bringing along our 3-year-old, Max, was another story.
While Max has matured since his turbulent toddler years, this would be his first cinema experience, and I knew he wouldn’t sit still for the duration. I couldn’t picture myself trying to keep him entertained while simultaneously enjoying the movie. I’d much rather stay home than pay for a ticket only to miss the show.
After some deliberation, I finally informed Jake that he would be responsible for wrangling Max if we all went together. But then it dawned on me that hiring a babysitter might be the best solution. This way, Max could enjoy some playtime while the rest of us enjoyed a well-deserved break. It turned out to be a win-win for everyone—Max had a blast with his toys, while Jake, Ethan, and I relished a stress-free evening.
Before the film, we stopped at a nearby Chik-fil-A for a light dinner. I usually find myself constantly catering to everyone’s needs, worrying about spills and snacks, but this time, it was completely different.
Next to us, two little girls with matching hair bows squabbled over who would sit next to Dad. I noticed the familiar look of exhaustion on their parents’ faces. A mother wheeled her baby around in one of those large plastic seats while juggling a tray of food. I smiled at her, recalling those days with my own children, but I was grateful that it wasn’t me this time.
Ethan sat quietly, enjoying his meal without pretending the table was a spaceship or standing on his chair. There were no arguments or reminders to sit down. I remembered when I used to carry my screaming toddler out of that very restaurant. But this time, it wasn’t me.
I savored my elaborate salad without interruption or ketchup stains on my clothes. Our table was filled with a comforting silence. I could hear the laughter from the play area as children chased each other around. I glanced at Ethan and felt a pang of sadness—he seemed so grown-up, and I worried he might soon outgrow the fun of play areas. Just then, I found myself missing Max.
Jake put his arm around me and made a lighthearted comment about feeling lost with all this newfound free time. I chuckled, realizing we were both a bit uncertain about how to navigate this simple, easy moment.
Just as we were finishing up our meal, Ethan piped up, “Hey, can I go to the play place?” Oh, thank goodness!
“Of course, but we only have about 10 minutes,” I replied, and off he went.
As we walked to the theater, I held Ethan’s hand a little longer than usual, savoring the moment. He asked for cotton candy at the concession stand, and I was grateful that he still enjoyed the little things, like holding hands and sweet treats. I thanked my lucky stars for this time together.
Perhaps that “mom tunnel vision” isn’t so bad after all. When faced with the inevitability of change, the memories of toddlerhood become bittersweet, much like the sounds of newborn cries in the store.
I enjoyed the evening away from Max, and I eagerly anticipated picking him up afterward. One day, he would be all grown up, and that would be me—left with memories of these precious moments.
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Summary
This article reflects on a mother’s experience of a family outing without her youngest child, relishing the quiet moments and bittersweet nostalgia of parenting as children grow up.