Motherhood FAIL of the Week: Date Night vs. Sick Kiddo

This is the look a woman who just got barfed on.

Last night the Hubby and I went out to dinner, alone, for the first time in almost three months.  We try to make alone time a priority, but between our House of Plague, and then the holidays and the birthday shenanigans, low and behold three months went by without our having a chance to enjoy a meal without also trying to juggle a wiggling toddler and dodge flying food.

I was kind of ridiculously excited to go out, not only because I got a super amazingly awesome pair of booties on sale at Bloomingdale's last week (seriously, like 70% off - insane) but also because I actually really like getting gussied up and spending time with my adorable Hubs.  We had the babysitter scheduled, a rezzie at one of the hot new restaurants in town, and I even shaved my legs.  This was happening, people.

Well, we've been having some major teething issues around the homestead this week (molars, ugh) so the Muffin Man has been out of sorts.  Last night he didn't eat very much dinner and he was so tired that he began his bedtime meltdown just before six o'clock, a full hour before it usually happens.  I figured this was just the Universe gifting me with extra time to get ready for my hot Husband date, so I popped Noah into the bathtub and proceeded with our usual nighttime routine.  All went without incident until I was putting him into his jammies and he projectile vomited all over himself, me, and at least one third of the bathroom.  The thought went through my head that I should probably call the sitter and cancel our big night out, mainly because I was concerned that Noah might have the stomach flu, but also because being covered in regurgitated bananas and baby formula does not exactly make a woman feel at her best.  The thing is, after three months of non-stop Mothering, I really, really needed to go out and have a glass of wine and not be "some kid's Mother".  I knew we wouldn't be gone more than two hours (it's not like we were going to hit some hot club after dinner - please, I can't even stay awake past 10PM anymore), and our sitter is great with Noah and he loves her, so, no, I didn't cancel the date.  Instead, I cleaned up the vomit mess, got myself and Noah into a fresh tub, scrubbed us down, and then put him to bed, with some really nice extra cuddling thrown in.  

I suppose if I were a different, less selfish woman, I would've put my desire for a delicious meal and some adult conversation aside for the good of my child.  Well, here's a news flash: I am who I am, and that's probably not going to change.  Yes, I felt a teensy bit guilty when I walked out of the house in my new hot booties, but after a glass (or two) of wine I relaxed and enjoyed myself.  Thankfully, Noah did not suffer any further incidents of projectile vomiting, and he seems to be his chipper self this morning, so I don't think he's any the worse for wear due to my gallivanting around town while he was under the weather.  My feet however, are definitely paying the price for my wild night out; I've got blisters for days.  Perhaps that's just the Universe telling me it doesn't approve of my parenting choices.  

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Just in case you're wondering… we went to République last night, in the old Campanile space.  The food was delicious.  If you like patés, I can't recommend the charcuterie platter highly enough, as it was really, really fantastic and a very generous portion.  They have a great selection of oysters, and all the food was outstanding.  The seating is weird - mainly communal tables - which we didn't love, so I would suggest just going on a whim and sitting at the bar.  The Chef is the original opening Chef from Church and State, so if you liked that place when they first opened you'll recognize a few riffs from that menu.