My husband and I were going out to dinner with friends. These are good friends — a friend Jake has known since they were riding tricycles. We were so excited. Evan was sleeping at grandma and grandpa’s, and we got a night to ourselves. Full of appetizers, cocktails and some really good and needed adult time. This was a night we were craving and looking forward to. When we picked up our friends, and decided to take our car to the restaurant… it began. We turned into THOSE parents.
First we needed to move the car seat. Every mom knows that when you remove a car seat, there is a whole unknown world living underneath it. Since my mister was still sitting reverse, there is another world hiding on the back of the seat as well. Embarrassed, I pulled out my mommy supply of wipes and started to not only clean the seat, but completely scrub it. After I declared it clean and all the toys made their way to the trunk, we all got into the Clorox-scented car. Once Jake started the car, we were again reminded how ridiculous we are — cue the toddler music. The best part about the tunes playing is that Jake and I rode all the way to our friends’ house with the music playing. Neither of changed the station; I’m not even sure if either of us realized it was on. This has become our normal. Yep, we do sing about a man and his animals on a farm, and we do clap our hands and stomp our feet because we are happy. We are THOSE parents.
Then I did it at dinner. You know, the proud mommy moment. I pulled out my phone, for absolutely no reason, and showed them a picture of our son. Completely unwarranted and completely unnecessary, but I did it anyway. I had pulled out my phone to check in with the grandparents, but then I had to sneak a peek because I missed him.
We had wanted this adult night out, to go out, be social, and make sure we are not forgotten about in our circle of friends. But I missed him, and I felt guilty being away from him. I was sad that Grandma was rocking him to sleep and not me; I was bummed that I missed out on his storytime. Then the internal dialogue started: Did he brush his teeth? Speaking of teeth, was his mouth still hurting? Did Jake tell Grandma that Evan’s dose went up on the Tylenol? Oh no, the Tylenol! Did I pack the Tylenol? I really hope his mouth isn’t bothering him. I’m a bad Mom! I didn’t double check that I packed the Tylenol just in case!
This scenario happens all too often when we are out. I am THAT parent. I talk about my child, even to our friends who chose to be childfree, I talk about our child. Yet, they smiled. They listened to the stories. They let me talk about Evan. Then I showed a picture, because, he’s perfect. Who wouldn’t want to see a picture of Evan? His photos make me smile, they make my heart melt and they let me know everything is okay. Who wouldn’t want to know everything is okay? Our adult time is often surrounded by conversations about Evan, and somehow, all conversations lead to Evan. This is our life, this is who we are right now. We are THOSE parents.
Are you THAT parent, too? —Jennifer