Babysitting

Holy shit we're parents.

6:15. The doorbell rings. It's the babysitter, adorable in glasses and Chuck Taylors, here to sit for our kid so we can go out to dinner. I show her how to work the TV and leave phone numbers and tell her to help herself to the fridge, because that's what I was told last week when I was babysitting. At least I could swear it was last week. And so we had a really nice dinner - half of which was spent discussing how weird it felt having a babysitter so we could actually be out having dinner. And we came home to a quiet house, a sleeping baby, and a babysitter who would love to come back and is going to come back. So we get to do it again, this dating thing with no baby. But then that's how that baby showed up in the first place, so we'll have to be on our guard.

But that's ok. I feel old and grownup and strange and so, so happy to be dating my husband again.