Last night hubs and I went on a date for the first time in four months. Yes, we have had babysitters in that same period of time, but to attend doctors appointments, friend’s birthday parties, and engagement showers. Not what you would call quality time exactly. I know I’m getting smug thoughts from all those couples that manage to have a weekly date night (and trust me, I’m envious), but it’s just not feasible these days between conserving finances and not burning our beloved nanny and my parents (correction, my mom) out. Four months aside, I’m still crazy about my husband, truly!
Act 1. Date Prep
5 PM shower time! Excitement about a shower is indicative of not being pregnant, but of having a two-year old. Hubs has graciously agreed to watch kiddo while I shower first. My first task involves shaving my legs. I’ve managed to keep the wooly mammoth look to a minimum throughout this pregnancy, but I’m trying to do a date-worthy job tonight, which proves trickier than I anticipated. Maneuvering around the belly to shave thighs that I can’t even see over the belly results in nicks, furry patches, and really unattractive leg positioning. In other words, I’m 11 years old again shaving my legs for the first time. As for any additional attention paid to my my nether region, forget it. Because bush is sexy right? Even if it’s not, I haven’t had a Brazilian wax in over two years, and I’m not starting up again six months into pregnancy.
I emerge from the shower and begin my lotion-ing regimen. Arms, legs, boobs, belly. Stretch mark cream screams romance. How about some perfume? If you’re one of the unlucky ones with persistent morning sickness, the slightest whiff of cologne or eau de toilette will result in dry heaving or worse. Luckily I managed to spray a light scent on with only mild shivers of repulsion.
Now for some sexy date night attire. Luckily, pregnancy equals boobs, so definitely a cleavage-bearing top. Unless your boobs are too veiny, which luckily this time around, I’m in the clear on so far. My first inclination was to go for cute sandals and maternity skinny jeans, but after struggling to get those suckers up and then feeling like my uterus had just been strapped into a corset, I decided instead on a non-pregnancy long black cotton maxi dress with a crocheted back and plunging front. It had to stretch a bit over the belly, but I’m sure it will rebound. Just like my belly.
Feeling cute, I moved on to hair and makeup, which made me feel even better/ not like a frumpy non-showered, hair constantly pulled back, mom. Slipped on some cute red sandals and a matching clutch from my 20’s (not a diaper bag!!) and we were ready to go. I was feeling good. Admittedly, I was thinking, “ooh, I look good, I’m the chick that other chicks look at and say, ‘oh, I want to look like her when I’m pregnant!'” Riiiiight. 🙂
Act 2. The Date
6:10 PM we are out the door! Riding high on my inflated self esteem, and actually feeling like I matched my husband’s good looks for once, we headed out to a fantastic bar called Julep. I can’t wait to visit this place again once I’m able to limitlessly imbibe and have raw oysters. Sort of a speakeasy-ish vibe with Southern craft cocktails. Yum. Walking in, however, I was immediately reminded of just how insecure I actually am about my appearance (grossly pregnant) right now.
There was a group of 20-something girls, thin, and put-together enough that they all appeared to be fairly attractive, discussing their next move just outside the entrance. They clearly were just then ending their afternoon of day-drinking (one of my favorite things to do on the planet, EVER), and were debating getting food now or later. I remember having these same issues, which are extremely important when planning your Saturday night. I immediately felt old, pregnant, and frankly, envious of that carefree life.
I felt these things even more so when we ordered our drinks and my husband pointedly asked the bartender what sorts of non-alcoholic drinks she could concoct for me and she gave me a look of withering sympathy. My immediate thought should be, don’t feel sorry for me, I’m creating and growing life! But no actually, this sucks. We took our drinks and sat down in a booth and enjoyed each other’s company, sitting side-by-side and canoodling. I was loving every second, up until I started to get a little sweaty. You know how I decided on a dress in lieu of jeans? Big mistake. Because in my excitement over being on a date, I got a little sticky, and that stickiness translated directly to my belly sticking to my thighs. Gross! Which resulted in me awkwardly shoving my dress between my belly and my thighs to keep things dry. Sexy!
We moved on to dinner at a cute little neighborhood Italian joint. Nothing too peculiar about that, just no wine. By the time we finished dinner, however, it was 8:45 and hubs was ready to call it a night and head home (having a toddler will give you insanity that enables you to think that anything past 8 PM is late in the evening). I was equally exhausted, but I was also insistent that we needed to use the luxury of having a babysitter for the night and keep the evening going. We agreed that an ice-cream run sounded like a good idea. So we hit up the local creamery with every other 14 year old with a bike in town.
Act 3. The Aftermath.
We came home at 9:30 (respectable) and instead of the frantic post-date rush of drunken making-out and pulling clothes off, we settled down in front of the tv for the next hour, me prone like a beached whale while the baby inside me bopped and pushed things around, causing a quite visible show of her acrobatics.
Now I know some pregnant women are horny. Really horny. I was feeling that rush about two months ago, thinking about a lot of sex, and feeling pretty good physically. Unfortunately the whole placenta previa thing kind of halted my being able to do much about that, and now, my sex hormones have pretty much abated/ I feel disgusting. And can anyone relate to the awkward kissing when you’re grossly pregnant? I literally have to turn sideways in order to get some meaningful contact. So we went to bed shortly thereafter, me in ratty old boxer shorts and a stretched tank, surrounded by pillows of various sizes and fills.
Have I mentioned that I love my husband? And am the luckiest woman alive? And that’s what date night is really all about.