I’ll never forget it. After nearly three months of complete focus and attention on our new little bundle of joy, Matt and I had decided to venture out of the house to celebrate our anniversary. This decision was not made lightly—in fact, it was debated upon for weeks, mostly by me.
Matt had been out in the “real world” since Ella’s birth, going back to work, living his life. Me, not so much. My life at the time consisted of nursing, changing diapers, stroller rides and doting over our gorgeous new little girl, without much contact with the outside world. Did I mention nursing and diaper changing? Yeah, that was really the brunt of my day. But after much encouragement and coaxing from one of my best friends who generously volunteered to watch Ella, “we” decided we really need to take this next step.
“What, leave my baby! Are you crazy?” I thought. “She’ll know I’m gone. What if she cries and wants her Mommy and I’m not there? What if she won’t take her bottle? What if a burglar comes in, knocks my friend over the head with a garden shovel and takes off with Ella in tow?”
“Relax, you paranoid, hormonal freak!” I said to myself (dang those hormones).
Deep down, I knew we had to do this, and after all the new-parent stress from the first few months, we really deserved—correction, NEEDED—a night out to celebrate the fact that one of us had not left the other by that point. I’m joking of course, but you gotta know that those initial months of a new parent’s life test a marriage like nothing else.
Bless her soul, my friend made good on her word and watched Ella so we could go out to dinner. With two kids of her own, I felt pretty safe leaving Ella in her company. So for the first time in months, I slipped on a dress (praying I’d be able to zip it up all the way and still breathe) and fussed over my hair and make-up…all the while mentally preparing myself for our departure. “You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.”
One solace was that I knew we couldn’t be gone long or my breasts were going to burst. Hey, maybe breastfeeding did have its perks after all!
We were all dolled up and ready to go. I gave one last loving hug to un-phased Ella, and then another….and another, before I noticed Matt giving me “the look.” You know the one that says, “You’re blowing this way out of proportion, let’s get the heck out of here already.” Excuse me, but when a mother is physically attached to her baby for nine months, letting go isn’t easy!
But I did let go, and it was the beginning of my newfound independence as a mother. Once I got my first taste of freedom—however difficult it was to say good-bye—I realized how absolutely necessary such mini “escapes” were for my health, sanity, parenting and marriage.
Granted, on that initial night out I couldn’t get through the meal without calling home twice. But it also felt so good to be enjoying a little grown-up time. From that point on, stepping out the door became a bit easier…at least for the first 8 months or so. That’s about the time Ella’s separation anxiety kicked in. Then we were both a mess; but I’ll get into that sob story next time.
