Like a [Dating] Virgin

On January 3rd, 2003, my husband and I went on our first date. After fawning over him for 2 years, you can imagine my interest in making sure that I looked good - I needed to create this aura of mystery that most definately no longer existed.

So I primped and preened in my 3-"bedroom", 1 bath apartment - carefully balancing my hair dryer, straightening iron, hair products, makeup, and cell phone in a bathroom large enough to turn around in.

I carefully styled my (then blond) hair. I meticulously applied enough make-up so as to make it "look natural". I picked out the pants that made my ass look good (I had just lost about 30 lbs) and a shirt that highlighted my (recently shrunken) waistline. Please note, here, that I did NOT say "a shirt that highlighted my breasts" - I hadn't discovered Victoria and my walmart bras never quite made the grade on flattering my above-the-waist features.

He arrived exactly on time and we whisked away to see Dr. Dirty at the Stress Factory in New Brunswick, NJ.

Fancy, I know.

Nearly 8 years later, I am standing in my standing in my "Master Bathroom" - en suite to my "Master Bedroom" at a dual vanity with my hair dryer, straightening iron, hair products, make-up and cell phone shamelessly sprawled out across the counter top. I am just as carefully styling my (now brunette) hair. I am meticulously applying my make-up so as to make me look "not old". I pick out a pair of jeans that make my ass look good (I have just RE-Lost the same 30lbs for the THIRD time) and picking our a shirt that hides the muffin-top left from carrying a child in a belly that bore the weight of probably 55 of the 65lbs I gained during my pregnancy). Please note, here, that I still have NOT said "a shirt that highlights my breasts" because, even after discovering the miracles Victoria has to offer, there some things that are just lost causes.

After putting our two dogs out to relieve themselves, confirming we had our movie tickets, changing the baby, grabbing Olivia's pajamas, putting the dogs in our bedroom, locking all the doors, and a few hundred other things now required to get out the door, we headed to the baby-sitters to drop Olivia off and then make our way to Sarasota for "dinner and a movie" (Harry Potter).

I couldn't help but giggle to myself as we were driving, swiftly, down 301 toward the babysitter. I planned this movie trip TWO months ago. The last movie we SAW together as a couple (in a real movie theatre) was in June, 2009 when Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was released. We have lost our identity as a couple almost so completely that thee babysitter had to remind me that we had mentioned seeing Harry Potter of November 20th.

The week leading up to our date-night out you would have thought we were going to Barbados for the weekend. I spent hours trying to find the exact right restaurant in the exact right proximity to the movie theatre I had selected.

We pulled away from the sitter's nervous and anxious - excited to have finally gotten a night alone outside the four walls of our own house (in the dark people!) and worried that Olivia's first partial sleep over would be a catastrophic failure (our plan was to pick her up around 11pm, bring her home and put her straight to bed).

I am so unaccustomed to going to a movie theatre, that I put the wrong theatre into my GPS. We lost so much time back-tracking that we were forced to go to Applebee's (our least favorite restaurant) to stay on time. Josh cheerfully ordered Sam Adams Winter - on tap, if you please - only to find out they only had Sam Adams Octoberfest in a bottle ("But, Josh - we have Sam Adams Winter Lager at home in the fridge"). The service was terrible so we barely tipped (because now we are the grumpy almost thirty year-olds who expect service if we are leaving our kid home to go out and spend a TON of money to have a few hours alone).
We got to the theatre 45 minutes early to be told we had to wait in line to get into the theater until 20-minutes till - only to find out that the movie was NOT that full and we could have very easily had dinner at a better restaurant and still get great seats.

So what do two parental-parolees talk about on their first date night in over a year?

Our first jobs.

For 20 minutes we talked about our first jobs, how much they paid, how taken advantage of we were, how we thought we were "rich" from the money we earned. And then, of course, Jerry Springer walked through the lobby of the theater and I giggled uncontrollably.

I arrived at the sitter's house excited to catch a glimpse of my sleeping daughter... I don't often indulge in watching her sleep due to the risk of waking her up. She was quietly dreaming and twitching and laying there as if to say: "Mom - you can totally do this more often".

I scooped her up in my arms, she hugged me as her head lay listlessly on my shoulder, and we headed to the car.

The content of your date conversations after your entrance to the parent-hood may change drastically - your hips may have spread making it harder to find pants to "make your ass look great" - your makeup may now settle into the beginning formations of crow's feet - you may forget what its like to be in a car after dark, and a date night that once cost you $40 dollars may now cost closer to $85 when you take into account inflation, your newly aquired appreciation for decent food, your financial stability giving you unwritten permission to spend money on beer that is 4 times more expensive that the same beer you bought at the grocery store, and the babysitter (provided you aren't going to some greedy 16-year old capatalist trying to charge you $10 per hour - if you are in such a situation, you have easily wracked up a $120 evening... This was a 6 hour night!)... but unlike the successful dates of your youth, there is now nothing better in this world than getting home, squeezing your son or daughter while they drift in and out of slumber, and the crawling into the bed you bought together, snuggling in the sheets you picked out yourself and taking that final deep breath into your nostrils before you slip into sleep yourself.