Our first post-baby date night was always going to be risky. The boy has changed our lives so drastically in the past three months that I had worried about how we’d cope without him for an evening. In my mind, a date night could only end in one of two ways.
First, without having him as a focal point, my wife and I would quickly discover that we’d forgotten how to talk to each other. Our evening would be full of awkward pauses and icy silences, and we’d be overwhelmed by a sense of helpless resignation about the long and dismal life we’d now be forced to spend together. Alternatively, we’d be so delighted by all the freedom and spontaneity and not constantly smelling of vaguely rancid yoghurt that we’d immediately leg it to the airport and start a brand new child-free life wherever the first flight took us.
But, still, despite these concerns, a date night needed to happen. My family has become a three-pronged unit, but it only seems sensible to sporadically acknowledge that two of those prongs are adult human beings who are capable of more than just feeding and shushing and wiping. If nothing else, spending small amounts of time away from him would be good training for the moment he moves out, when we’re left to confront the unrelenting emptiness of our lives and pour all our attention into a succession of crap hobbies.
So a plan was drawn up. My parents would come and look after the baby for a few hours while we went to see a film and got something to eat. It wasn’t a perfect itinerary, by any means – in my experience what parents of three-month-old-babies want more than anything is to walk into a padded room and let a stern-faced stranger shoot them in the back of the neck with a tranquilliser dart – but it was a start.
Nor was it executed perfectly. Our plan to eat a proper meal was promptly kiboshed in favour of a KFC, because eating a meal two-handed with cutlery at this stage is still an entirely alien concept to us. Worse, our gentleman’s agreement not to talk about our son died a horrible death within minutes.
Because what else is there to talk about? What could possibly be more important than him? This was our first chance to come up for air together and take stock of how far we’ve come since that horrible birth. To talk about the early days, and the sheer full-speed, bloody-nosed intensity of it all. To talk about how scared we were back then, and how on earth we’d managed to dig up the energy to cope with everything. To talk about how proud we were of each other, just for getting through it.
And to talk about him. Our son is now unrecognisable from the boy in the picture that accompanies this column. He’s twice the size. His hair has changed colour. His personality – curious, giddy, delighted by absolutely everything around him – is more evident. He’s already a little boy, and he’s starting to show us who he’s going to be. He’s brilliant. Somehow, in defiance of all the odds, we’ve made something that’s brilliant.
As date nights go, it wasn’t anything special. We didn’t go far, or stay out late, or try anything new. But it was perfect. By going out, we managed to grab back some of what we sacrificed when we decided to have a baby, and remind ourselves why we wanted one in the first place. And, best of all, once it was finished, we went back to him.
