My eldest child, Noah, is now five years old. Remarkably, that’s about the same number of times my partner, Sam, and I have ventured out together since he arrived. Just one hand is enough to count our quality time—if you want to wave or even lightly smack someone with it, that’s entirely possible.
Sure, there have been outings, but they hardly qualify as “real” dates. We haven’t enjoyed an evening where we secure a reservation at a classy restaurant with cloth napkins and indulge in a bottle of wine, all while basking in the warm glow of actual candles. Instead, our escapades consisted of the occasional matinee while my mother entertained herself with Sudoku on her iPad as the kids napped. We made it a point to catch only Oscar-nominated films; anything less felt like a waste of our precious time.
Then there’s “fancy lunch,” a concept we invented. It involves dining at an upscale Italian or French establishment, complete with dim lighting and local artwork adorning the walls. We’d savor multiple courses and sip wine, pretending it was dinner. However, the drawback of fancy lunch is that you eventually have to leave, squinting against the afternoon sunlight and heading back home to don your parenting cap and prepare dinner, all while yearning for a nap.
This isn’t due to any shortcomings in our marriage; rather, it stemmed from an entirely different situation. In the first two years of parenthood, going on a date was simply off the table.
Noah arrived prematurely at thirty weeks, necessitating a three-month stay in the NICU. When he finally came home, he required a tracheotomy, suction machine, and oxygen monitor. Handing over medical equipment to the neighborhood teenager wasn’t an option. I often questioned my own ability to care for him—what did I, a high school English teacher, know about suctioning phlegm from a trach? Yet, I adapted and became proficient in meeting his needs. Looking back, I take pride in the few nights we managed to sneak away and the makeshift afternoons we pieced together amidst the medical whirlwind that consumed our home.
It wasn’t until Noah’s trach was removed, two years later, that we finally embarked on our first date. We entrusted his care to my mom, now that the monitors and medical paraphernalia were stowed away. We slipped off to a vineyard, enjoying far too much wine under twinkling lights, accompanied by the sounds of crickets and live music.
But then, we found out we were expecting twins. It quickly became evident that even Grandma couldn’t juggle the demands of twin infants alongside an older brother who, while medically stable, still required special attention. At that time, Noah lacked a wheelchair and I was the only one able to feed him—unless a trained professional was present. Instead of fancy outings, Sam and I often took long walks in between feedings and diaper changes. These strolls provided a sense of release but fell short of cultivating our relationship.
One evening, while sharing a gourmet meal of peanut butter and jelly with Wheat Thins at an ungodly hour, I noticed the graying of Sam’s beard illuminated by the flickering light of the television. When had that happened? Time blurred, and I realized I hadn’t truly looked at him in ages.
“Hey,” I nudged him with my toe from across the couch. He grunted in response through a mouthful of peanut butter. “We need to escape this house. Just the two of us, without kids. In real clothes. After dark. For at least two hours.”
This wasn’t a groundbreaking thought, but voicing it while “Veep” played in the background made it feel actionable. The kids were older, and I had become a more experienced parent, cognizant of the divorce rates for couples who neglect their relationship. Our circumstances were challenging, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t carve out time for each other.
I started networking locally, quietly inquiring on Facebook for babysitter recommendations suited for our unique situation. I ended up connecting with the best teacher at Noah’s inclusive preschool—her name is Lily, and her contact information is now treasured. She regularly takes care of the kids, allowing us to steal away into the night.
We’ve managed to go out about once a month now, a significant improvement from our previous average. Last week, we attended a wedding, the ideal date night—complimentary dinner, drinks, dancing, and cake. It’s been a decade since I was a bride, but I danced more enthusiastically and stayed out later than anyone else on the dance floor. We’ve certainly earned it.
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In summary, navigating parenthood has significantly impacted our dating life. Through perseverance and prioritizing our relationship, we’re now beginning to reclaim some of our lost quality time.