My partner had asked me repeatedly if I wanted to join him and our 8-year-old daughter for the highly anticipated Star Wars movie. This time, he wanted our entire family to be there, including our 3-year-old toddler. While I was eager to see the film, I had my reservations about bringing our youngest. Though he had made strides since his wild toddler days, this would be his first movie experience, and I couldn’t envision him sitting still for the duration. The thought of trying to keep him entertained during the film felt more daunting than enjoyable. Honestly, I’d rather stay home than pay for a ticket just to chase him around, if you catch my drift.
I hesitated and finally suggested that my partner handle our active little one if we went as a group. Eventually, I decided that hiring a babysitter for the night would be the best choice. This way, our toddler could have fun with toys, while my partner, our daughter, and I could enjoy a relaxed evening together.
It was almost surreal. We stopped at a nearby Chick-fil-A for a light dinner before the film. I usually found myself catering to everyone’s needs, worrying about spilled drinks and snacks, but this time… it wasn’t me.
Next to us, two little girls with matching hair bows squabbled over who got to sit by their dad. I recognized the overwhelmed expressions on their parents’ faces. A mother juggled an infant in a wheeled seat, balancing a tray of food with her other arm. I smiled at her, remembering my own experiences when my children were that young. But again, this time it wasn’t me.
I glanced at my 8-year-old, seated quietly, actually eating without pretending the table was a battlefield or climbing on the furniture. There was no need for reminders to sit down or stop staring at the customers behind us. I recalled a time when I had to carry this same child out of the restaurant, screaming. This time, though, there were no tantrums, and it wasn’t me.
As I savored my complex salad without any interruptions, I enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere. We sat in comfortable silence while a young boy dashed back and forth in his socks, playing in the restaurant’s play area. His mother seemed frazzled, repeatedly asking if he was finished eating. Again, this time it wasn’t me.
For the first time in ages, I didn’t experience that familiar “mom tunnel vision.” I could actually observe my surroundings, hearing the joyful sounds from the play area as children squealed and chased each other. I glanced at my daughter and felt a pang of sadness; she was growing up so fast, and I worried she might soon think play areas were for babies.
Then, I missed my toddler.
My partner wrapped his arm around me and joked about not knowing how to fill our newfound free time. I laughed, agreeing that it felt oddly quiet. After our leisurely meal, my daughter asked, “Can I go in the play place?” Oh, thank heavens.
“Yes, but we only have about 10 minutes,” I replied, and off she went.
As we walked to the theater, I held her hand a bit longer than usual, and she didn’t pull away. She asked for cotton candy at the concession stand, and I relished the fact that she was still young enough to enjoy play areas, hold hands, and crave cotton candy. I counted my blessings. This time it wasn’t me.
Perhaps that mom tunnel vision isn’t so bad after all. When we’re on the brink of change, all the toddler moments become cherished memories, much like the sweet sounds of a newborn’s cries in the grocery store. I was thankful for the opportunity to enjoy a night away from our toddler and delighted in the movie, looking forward to picking him up afterward, knowing that someday he would be all grown up, and it would be me.
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Summary:
A mother reflects on a rare outing with her older child while their toddler stays with a babysitter. She enjoys the uncomplicated evening, free from the usual parenting chaos, and appreciates the bittersweet moments of watching her children grow up.