My 18 month old son was playing “disappear” in the closet as I made a fresh bed. Task completed, I went to retrieve him and he handed me a lovely silver clutch purse. It took a few beats to realize that it was my lovely clutch and that once upon a time I used it quite a bit.

I had to sit down on the floor the force hit me so hard. Remembering days of going out on a whim’s notice. Eating at trendy downtown restaurants, drinking martinis and wine. Meeting with sophisticated (childless) friends to go to a movie. Walking slowly hand-in-hand when the weather was warm. Dressing up in fun (sometimes adventurous) clothes with proper time to do my hair and makeup.

I sat there in a memory haze, kicking myself hard about how I could have taken it all fore granted.

My weekends now are very different. Very organized, very routine. Friday night we usually watch a movie. Saturday night my husband plays rec hockey, leaving me at home with my son and a good book. Sunday is about running errands. It’s comfortable, pleasant and for the most part I don’t mind.

But oh, in that moment I wanted to grab my lovely silver clutch purse and have a spontaneous evening out.

Date nights were almost impossible when I was breastfeeding fulltime. I admit to cancelling plans as we were walking out the door because my child could be heard screaming in the next city. My breasts would leak all over my haven’t-lost-all-the-baby-weight, ill-fitting clothes that I really didn’t feel comfortable going out to a fancy restaurant in.

Today although date nights are something to look forward to, it’s just not the same. Not even close. Pick a date. Negotiate with my mother about the date. On day of date, make sure that supper and everything else is ready for my son and mother. After getting dressed, avoiding my son so he doesn’t get something all over my good clothes.

Go out. Avoid talk about the baby. Genuinely enjoy the treat of good food and wine (I guess that’s something). Have a few awkward lulls in conversation. Share a few nice moments. By 9:00 I’m done in want to go home and sleep.

As we walk hand-in-hand to the car, my mind has turned to the baby. Will he be sleeping? Will he wake up during the night? Was he good? No opportunity to linger and watch happy people go on by.

I know, I know, having date nights is far better than having no date nights at all. And I certainly don’t want to sound like a whiner—I wouldn’t trade my son for all the past amazing childless date night combined.

It’s just seeing the lovely silver clutch has made me feel old. So very unsexy and completely ensnarled in domestic routine. Like my parents. Something I vowed, as a single gal, would never happen to me.

With my child so young I can’t help but wonder: is it ever going to get better?

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Filed under: Fabulous Guest Bloggers, Just Venting, Sex