Date night

The first date night in nearly a year reminds Sophie White of the importance of getting the hell away from the babies sometimes

With the first baby, Himself and I wisely enacted a dogmatic bedtime routine. It was detailed and demanding — baths, warmed towels, unguents and lotions, stories, song-and-dance numbers — so demanding, in fact, that afterwards we were usually too shattered for much more than bed ourselves.

The routine was good insofar as everyone says babies love routines, but the routine did kind of rule our lives for about two years. I lived in constant stress that we wouldn’t get home in time to start the routine — it was so protracted that we were practically kicking it off at around 4pm.

With the arrival of the second child, I found myself thinking that we should go for a looser routine, which translates as no routine at all, which translates as ‘Oh holy God, what have we done?’

The only routine that the second baby has ever experienced is being cuddled to sleep, and then cuddled on-demand all night long. So: demanding on a whole other level.

This ‘routine’ was going along fine, in that we were too exhausted to try and remedy it, until it occurred to us that it might be nice to leave the house in the evening again one day, at the same damn time. Seriously, what have we done? How do I explain to a babysitter that one child will need round-the-clock cuddling for the entire duration of our absence?

It’s a big ask, especially when said baby is also very tenacious and will also most likely try to gain access to the babysitter’s boobs. Awkward. In the end, my mother took pity on me. I think the fact that, of the entire family, she was the only one to remember our wedding anniversary this summer alerted her to the fact that with two demanding megalomaniacal cherub-children under three, our marriage may be suffering.

She also may be slightly concerned that if our relationship is not nurtured and maintained and should crumble, I would most likely be landing in on her with the demonic cherub-children, and that her plan to live out her days in peace watching back-to-back

Call the Midwife might be scuppered. We escaped the house to a nearby restaurant and, natch, were looking at pictures of the spawn on our phones by the time the starters arrived. We weren’t dying to get back there or anything. Sometimes a little distance helps you appreciate things better, such as the beautiful mini humans you’ve made together.

Of course, there was wine — some might say ambitious amounts of wine for two people who couldn’t count on more than two consecutive hours sleep following said wine consumption. And while the wine was undeniably fun, we needed a remedy the next day. Enter these healing spicy eggs.

“It’s a big ask especially when said baby will also try to gain access to the babysitter’s boobs”