This past weekend was easily my favorite since Leanne was born for one simple reason: we didn’t schedule any visitors. It wasn’t due to lack of interest, in fact, taking this weekend off padded the queue a little bit further. Instead, it was largely due to my fleeting patience with people. As I learned a while ago, I’m very much an introvert, and the constant invasion of perpetually late visitors was taking a serious toll on me.
Actually, saying we had no visitors isn’t exactly accurate. My mom called on Friday night.
“Hey, I was thinking that I didn’t have to just come down during the day during the week. I could come on weekends. Like Saturdays. Hey, isn’t tomorrow a Saturday? I could come tomorrow night and you and Meg could go out.”
“Thinly veiled” doesn’t do justice to her motivations. Beyond simply trying to procure some more granddaughter time, her calculated offer not only guaranteed uninterrupted face time, but granted her a reason to feed Leanne a bottle. I smiled at both my mother’s transparency as well as the prospect of getting a little time out with just Meg. Besides, my parents’ visits are 98% for the baby, so if I was doing something else when they showed up, I didn’t have to immediately drop it and put on my “glad to see you, please come invade my house” face I do with most other guests.
“Deal. We’ll see you at 5.”
Surprisingly, this isn’t the first time we’ve left Leanne with my mom (and in this case, grandpa came too). In fact, Meg and I were both shocked to find ourselves so willing to leave Leanne a mere two weeks after she was born. In either case we didn’t go far, but neither of us felt the fear of leaving our newborn with a babysitter.
I kissed Leanne goodbye and looked at my parents on our couch. It had a very weird deja vu feeling of being 17 and going out on a date. Not only wouldn’t I have been surprised if my mom asked when I was going to get home, but I probably would have answered her before realizing the flashback nature of the question. The deja vu was lessened by the look of sheer happiness on my parents’ faces, largely from having time with Leanne, but I’m sure deep down there’s a primal parental relief in not having a fear of the date resulting in pregnancy.
Pre-baby, quite a few different sources said to not talk about the baby. Indeed we did have other things to talk about; now that I’m done with my Masters, we’re talking about how I’m going to undertake my next step while balancing baby and budget. That’s not to say we didn’t talk about Leanne. We both agreed it wasn’t in an unhealthy “we can’t stop talking about the baby” sort of way, but the fact is that she’s the majority of what’s going on in our lives right now and naturally a conversation point.
We didn’t go far on our date. We started at dinner, both laughing at our good fortune in being carded for drinks. That was done early and, with the very real prospect of my mom not letting us back in the house so soon, we headed to the mall. Having both been reminded as to why we never go to the mall on Saturday nights and getting our fill of obnoxious, inappropriately dressed teenagers, we went to Rita’s for dessert and headed home.
We didn’t have a single worry the entire night; I’m a walking resume for my parents’ qualifications to babysit. We arrived home to find Leanne in one piece, just a bit overstimulated as the two grandparents jockeyed for rights to hold her. A thousand kisses and goodbyes to Leanne later, the grandparents set off for home. They pulled out of the driveway and I was hit with a moment of sadness; I could feel Leanne’s diaper leak through her onesie and realized it was too late to make grandma change her.