Yesterday I was offered a ticket to see a band. The show was already sold out, and although I had never heard any of the band’s music before, I thought it would be great to get out of the house and ‘amongst it’. It had been almost a year since I had been out, last time being my friend’s wedding last year. But I was 6 months pregnant at the wedding, and didn’t even enjoy a glass of bubbly to celebrate, given my ‘delicate state’ haha.
The friend who offered me the ticket is a huge fan of the band – she even named her son after them. And we always have great fun when we hang out together. So needless to say, I was pretty excited to head out. But, deep inside, there was the worry. I hadn’t been away from K at night before. Sure, I have been to get a haircut, pick up some milk or bread, or the occasional school run. But this would be for almost 4 hours. At night. Usually K sleeps solidly from around 8pm – 12am. There is the occasional deviation, but generally that’s how he rolls.
So last night I beautified myself (as much as I could, considering my wardrobe consists of pre-preggy clothes that no longer fit, preggy clothes that look like the wardrobe from the movie ‘Big Momma’s House’, or mumsy basics). I straightened my hair, put on some makeup (really going all out here), and my heels. Have not had a need to wear them since… the aforementioned wedding. Love wearing heels.
So I get to the venue, a popular local pub, frequented by the party pack. My friend isn’t there yet, so I ordered my first drink out in over a year – Corona with lime. And settle in to wait for her. While I wait for her, a random punter walks by and starts chatting. I respond in a friendly but not encouraging manner. My friend arrives, and I blow the random off. We head upstairs to the live music room, where I am greeted with heavy guitar riffs, the beating of the drum kit, and around 150 ‘stoner rock’ fans. There was loads of black, dreaddies, piercings, funny hats, and that ‘rock on’ hand gesture. You know the one.
Around a song and a half deep into the set, and I can feel the buzz-buzz buzz-buzz on my hip. It was the dreaded Phone Call.
I ran outside to the DOSA so I could hear better.
‘You’ve gotta come home.’ It was C.
‘Why?’ Even as I said it I realised I could hear K through the earpiece. Screaming. Like, big time.
‘He’s been like this since you left.’
‘OK, I’m leaving now.’
And I left. A 4 second explanation to my friend, then I flew out the door. I got home in record time – no speeding, I swear… And back to my poor little baby. When I burst in the door, I could hear his hoarse little wail, see his red swollen eyes, his little body curled into C’s. I grabbed him from C and cuddled him close, laid down with him and fed him.
Eventually, like, 40 mins later, he finally settled. And I sank onto the couch. I admit, I was eager to jump in the car and catch the end of the concert. But I knew I wouldn’t. I knew I was where I should be.
I was disappointed, for sure. But I guess it’s just another sacrifice in parenthood. Last night, it felt like a big one. But you know what? This morning, in the bright morning sunshine, snuggled up with K while he is all sweet and sleepy, it’s not a big deal.
Not at all.