'I just had my first night out, without kids, in 5 years. Here's how it went.'

Your first night out as a mum, without a child strapped to your body or clinging to your ankles, is a rite of passage in motherhood.

It's evidence that you’ve really started to master this parenting caper: you’ve lined up formula, pumped or prepped purees to ensure bub is happy while you’re out, and you’ve ensured someone else is able to settle them (or at least deal with major meltdowns) while you’re out. 

It’s a big deal because it’s a sign that you’re clawing back a teeny bit of your independence, outside of the all-encompassing role of being a mum.

For most women, the 'First Night Out' seems to happen once bub is a few months old, or perhaps once they’re on solids. Maybe even once they’re in daycare and a little less clingy. 

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In my case, it took me five (yes, five) years to reach the point where I was ready to go out solo for dinner with friends. This may sound a little odd, but to give you some context, I’m one of those breastfeed on demand, never had a babysitter, cuddle to sleep 'attachment' mums. 

If he’s not working late, my hubby will usually do the pre-bed play routine and stories, but I’ll do the 'finishing touch', by boobing or cuddling the kids to sleep, simply because it’s the most efficient way to get those tiny whirlwinds down. In the past five years, I’ve had numerous daytime outings without the kids, but I’ve generally considered myself homebound at night. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were a few attempts at a night out in the early days. When my first child, Jasmine (now nearly five) was six months old, my mother’s group arranged a dinner out. Excited, I donned the first proper dress (rather than the easy boob access kind) that I’d worn in months, put on makeup, and did my hair in such a way that I vaguely resembled pre-child me. 

Things were looking great: I’d boobed Jasmine to sleep on the bed, and snuck out ever so quietly... but then accidentally shut the bedroom door behind me with a bang, waking her up screaming. It wasn’t the best start – I was already running late, so I bolted, with assurances of regular text updates from the home front. 

Unsurprisingly, I’d only had a few sips of my mocktail before I got a text update that Jasmine was still sobbing. I knew she was just overtired and would probably settle eventually, but that new mum panic set in and I sprinted home. Of course, when I got home, she was giggling happily, like nothing had happened.

Fast forward another 18 months or so, and I was pregnant with baby number two and contemplating another shot at a Mum’s Night Out. It was to be a wild night of gingerbread house making with two friends from playgroup, but Jasmine was going through a clingy, breastfeeding to sleep phase, so the logistics got too overwhelming, and I flaked. It was a home-made gingerbread kit for me, instead. 

Then, a few weeks ago, I had a major breakthrough. A friend of mine was visiting Sydney from Wagga, and was organising a reunion dinner with some old work pals, some of whom I hadn't seen in years. This was it. It was now or never. I RSVP’d yes, albeit with trepidation. 

I knew my nearly five-year-old would be fine without me, but was a bit worried about my breastfeeding on demand two-year-old Theodore, who’s in the process of dropping his nap and gets particularly screamy if mummy isn’t there after dark. 

Feature Image: Supplied.

In the lead-up, I had coffee with two friends, one of whom is a psychotherapist (so coffee dates always involve a side of therapy). Confessing my mixed feelings about my upcoming nocturnal outing, she levelled with me, saying: "You’ve got to either just go and enjoy yourself, or stay at home but accept that this is the phase of life you’re in right now and be okay with it, rather than resisting it."

Her advice hit home: I realised that I either needed to stop whingeing about having zero independence and stand by my choice to be a super pro-attachment mama, or loosen my (self-imposed) leash a bit and have a night out. I chose the latter.

When the night itself rolled around, I was anxious that the kids would protest when time came for me to leave. In the days prior, Jasmine (who likes to be included in everything, and decide most things) had been insisting that she wanted to tag along for dinner, which I seriously considered, but decided schlepping into the city after dark with a small child seemed too effortful.

Thankfully, the Great Mother Spirit was smiling on me that night. The kids were busy playing with their dad and weren’t remotely fussed when I stepped out the door. So far, so good. 

I arrived at the restaurant, happy to see my pals and catch up on everyone’s news. Now, I usually can’t stand it when people obsessively check their phones in social settings, but I’m ashamed to say I became that person. Anxiously eyeing my phone every 10 minutes, in case there was an update about a crying baby or tantruming toddler. But no such update came. 

Every parent knows evenings (bedtimes specifically) can be the most fraught time of the day, but things seemed to be totally under control. It appeared I was the only one with separation anxiety.

Because I’ve been home for literally every settle since my kids were born, I’d planned to be home around 9.30pm (the time the kids usually drift off) to give them a final boob/cuddle. Sheepishly excusing myself from dinner as the first mum to scarper, I power walked at a cracking pace to the bus stop. Stepping in the front door just after 9pm, in good time for the final settle, I was surprised to see my hubby chilling on the lounge and no kids about – a most unusual sight. "Oh, they went to sleep about an hour ago," he said, casually. What kind of trickery was this?!

Sneaking into the bedroom, both kids were indeed snoozing peacefully, mama bear not required. Climbing in next to them for a quick cuddle, I suddenly felt super sentimental. As I gazed at their cherub-like faces and stroked their soft curls, I realised something. 

As much as I complain about the night-time settle (particularly when it’s a tough night with lots of resistance or sibling squabbles), it’s actually one of my favourite parts of parenting. You get to see your firecracker, energiser bunny kids finally soften into sleep, snuggled in your arms. All the stresses or dramas of the day are instantly erased with a cuddle and an "I love you", and you come back to the perfect simplicity of the parent-child bond, where affection is all that matters.

I definitely enjoyed my night out (and it may be the first of more), but it was also a good reminder that a night away isn’t so terrible after all.

Feature Image: Supplied.

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