“We have a problem,” stated my husband.
“We do? Besides not budgeting correctly?” I questioned.
“What’s our problem?”
“Our babysitters have all moved.”
“You’re right,” I replied.
We counted off, two recently-made close friends (united through food and similarliy aged children who get along really well) moved this year, and the babysitter Levi was born with has long since married and moved.
But, why the sudden concern for a babysitter. It’s not as if we go out. Seriously. We don’t. We do things as a family. Not because I don’t want to go out, but the act of going out requires two willing parties, not just one. The other party often changes his mind at the last minute so that I frankly get tired of suggesting it. I find other things to do, with Levi, or by myself. I get tired of talking about it. Pondering about it. Figuring it out. Fixing it. I’ve more or less accepted it, even with twinges of hurt, frustration, anger. One of (the many) reasons I volunteer. I’d rather we do these things together, but repeat (lack of) interest on the second party.
We have not had a honeymoon. (Funds, pregnancy, and school didn’t really allow, but we’ve never made room for one either.) We have never celebrated an anniversary – alone. Sure we’ve had a few movie dates, but it’s been so long I can’t even remember when that was.
We do things as a family. So, maybe that’s just what our family does – things together. If I want a night out, it often means I go out alone.
So, we finish off the babysitter conversation. I question why we need a babysitter. In a silly, roundabout way, we land on my upcoming birthday (one month from today (the day of this writing, not the posting!) the 25th of February).
My husband wants to go out, with me, alone, on my birthday?
Oh the fantasies.
What about Italian?
He suggested a somewhat spendy fishhouse.
Could we? Will we?
Oh the dreams. Oh the pleasant surprises.