No longer dating

On Saturday night Mr Pencil and I celebrated our wedding anniversary.  Our anniversary wasn’t even on Saturday but that was the easiest night to go out – babysitting was less impossible than normal, Mr Pencil wasn’t working late and we could sleep off a big night out on the Sunday (a big night out being a night where we leave the house).

We went to a beautiful restaurant that where we hadn’t made a reservation because we had really only got ourselves organised about 12 minutes before and were seated next to a couple who were clearly on their first date.

Date Man had clearly been at the gym all day.  Mr Pencil had clearly been playing wrestling on the trampoline with Little Pencil all day.  While Date Man was buff and ripped from his workout, Mr Pencil looked haggard and exhausted (and he had tiny little finger nail marks on his neck from where Little Pencil had attacked him).

Date Woman ordered carefully, you could just tell that she was being cautious with her choices, no pesto between the teeth, no spaghetti to slurp, no spinach at all and definitely nothing finicky or on a bone.  Also, I imagine, she would have been careful to choose something off the menu that showed she had no eating issues – she was neither picky nor a glutton.  Mr Pencil and I ordered with gay abandon.  We were just grateful that we didn’t have to cook or clean up ourselves.

Date Man and Date Woman looked intensely at each other as they spoke.  Mr Pencil and my eyes hardly met.  When we weren’t gazing adoringly at food that we hadn’t had to prepare ourselves we were looking around the room.  Not judging the other diners as much as giving them complete life stories of our own.  Lives very different from the ones they live no doubt but ones that fed all the illusions we had of how we would live if we weren’t well, you know, us.  Honestly we were glad to not have a whole night out spent arguing discussing child rearing techniques and it was only when we were chatting about retirement and we heard the date couple  discussing university options that we decided to focus the conversation on other people.

As soon as Date Woman went to the bathroom (no doubt to use her phone and check her teeth for food), Mr Pencil took out his phone to check for messages.  Mr Pencil and I had our phones proudly displayed on the table all night – competing with the cutlery for space as a sign to the rest of the world that we were very important people parents and we had to have our phones at finger distance  just in case the baby sitter called.  I also checked the phone every two twenty minutes in case by some strange freakish chance the volume had turned itself off since I checked it last and I had missed that call reminding me of my own importance.

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I think the differences in ages and stages of life were fairly well cemented when Date Woman pulled out a lipstick from her bag and I bent down to do the same.  The major difference being that she pulled out a stunning red colour and I inadvertently pulled out a darth vadar lego figurine.

At the end of the meal Mr Pencil was feeling fat (the overeaten type of fat) , Date Man was feeling  fat too (the I’m ready to tear off my clothes type of fat).  I was feeling knackered (the exhausted type of knackered) and Date Woman was about to be knackered (NOT the exhausted  type of knackered).

Then we got the bill and and Mr Pencil didn’t visibly flinch (hello Date Man) and we drove back to the home we have created together and I realised that I could be the person I am because of Mr Pencil.  I can eat copious amounts of mash potato and spinach and not feel bad, I can laugh and talk utter nonsense about the people around me and Mr Pencil will laugh with me, I can put Darth Vadar to my mouth and Mr Pencil wont laugh loudly (or feel threatened), I can share my neuroses and  my love for the Little Pencil with someone who gets it as much as I do.

I think I was the  luckiest  woman at the restaurant on Saturday night.

What does it take to make you realise how lucky you are ?