Beware of the S.O.S.

Giving it up to the Universe sure does work. For three nights in a row, the Gadlet has slept in her own “big girl” bed (AKA the co-sleeper) for 3-5 hour chunks at a time. Huzzah!

And, in fact, things have been going so well this week while Grandma Unit has been here, Spousal Unit and I had our first post-baby date last Thursday.

It began when I left The Gadlet with her Grandma, and drove to pick up Spousal Unit, totally excited for the romantic date. I had shaved my legs, put on sexy panties, my smallest pre-pregnancy jeans (which fit, miracle of miracles), a cashmere sweater and spiffy knitted scarf. I even blow-dried my hair and styled it. I was feeling pretty hot, and was thinking in the car about how excited Spousal Unit would be to see a facsimile of his former wife when I remembered that I hadn’t brushed my teeth. Ew. Then, I started thinking about it and couldn’t actually remember when I had last brushed my teeth. I think it might have been days. Double Ew. So much for sexy and attractive. I started looking around, but we didn’t even have any mints or gum or anything in the car. Only Taco Bell Hot and Mild Sauce, which I would have gargled, but I figured that probably wouldn’t help the situation. There was nothing for it but confession. And somehow, telling Spousal Unit about my unbrushed teeth opened the floodgates of my private world and began an evening of confessions.

Here’s how it went:

Hostess at cajun/fish/bbq joint: “Table for Two?”

Stewgad: “YES, because I’ve left my six week old baby at home without either of her parents for the first time!!!”

Spousal Unit: Rolls eyes and tries to look like he isn’t actually with this Crazy Lady.

Hostess: “Um… Ok… Uncomfortable Pause. Right this way?”

We were seated at a nice table by the windows. Then, the waiter came to the table.

Waiter: “I hear this is a special day?” (Clearly the Hostess warned our Waiter that a Crazy Lady had just entered the restaurant.)

Stewgad: “YES, and I’ll have a HUGE Maker’s Mark Manhattan and a Dozen Raw Oysters, since I can eat them for the first time since last December when I got pregnant and I left my baby at home for the first time and I don’t have to breastfeed for a while so I can get totally plastered for the first time in months!!!!”

Waiter: “Um. Ok. Uncomfortable Pause. Well, let me know if there is anything I can do to make the meal more special.”

Spousal Unit: Rolls eyes and tries to look like he isn’t actually with this Crazy Lady.

I don’t know what was wrong with me — it was like hormonally induced confessional verbal diarrhea. The only thing I didn’t tell the waitstaff was what my new and improved giant bra size is and when the last day was that I had to take a stool softener. (Ah, the joys of pregnancy.) I really don’t know why I felt the need to inform total strangers about my private life, maybe it is the influence of the blog, but at least I drew the line before I started describing the post-partum Frankenpussy.

Despite the Sudden Over-Sharing Syndrome (a.k.a S.O.S), we had a great dinner. We shared that Huge Manhattan and the Oysters and got a little tipsy from both. Then I had a Crabcake with Sweet Potato Fries and Spousal Unit had Blackened Catfish with Beans and Rice and Brussel Sprouts. It was yummy. And I only worried about the Gadlet a little tiny bit. She had a great time with Grandma Unit, drank a bottle like a champ, and was happily sleeping when we got home.

She’s clearly growing up. Soon, she’ll be suffering from S.O.S. and confessing to some random waiter her innermost secrets when intoxicated on freedom and hormones and oysters while leaving her baby at home for the first time.

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5 responses to “Beware of the S.O.S.

  1. Have you ever run across someone who just got home from boot camp and can’t talk about anything but their training buddies? It’s the same thing.

  2. Glad you had a great time!! :> The dinner sounds delicious. And you know what, I bet the waitstaff remembered you out of all their customers that night because you shared something personal, rather than the average nothings people say, and they were all honored that you chose THEIR restaurant to enjoy your first date, while leaving your baby at home for the first time. So there. They better be honored.

  3. For our first date night I bought a new outfit and make-up. I thought it was ironic that I was trying to dress up and impress my husband when he had just witnessed me squeeze out our child. Go figure.

  4. Oh yeah, it’s the hormones. At least that’s what I told myself at the time, because I, too, overshared. Everywhere. With anyone. The good news is that I don’t do this anymore. The compulsion is gone.

    If it’s not hormones, maybe it’s pregnancy socialization. You know, how everyone talks to The Belly for months and months and you start to think that you and The Fetus are coextensive, so that you might panic at a) being apart now and b) how on earth are you supposed to talk to people without The Belly as a prop?

    And that first giant public boozy drink *awesome*? Congrats. We didn’t get out for a date until 5 months postpartum. Yikes.

  5. Holy cow, what a success, S.O.S. notwithstanding! You’ve already gone out on a post-baby date, and the first time out you only worried about her just a tiny bit? That makes you Super Mom, I think, so you aren’t allowed to give yourself even a little bit of a hard time for anything else during the evening, even for not brushing your teeth.

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