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On Sunday I went on a first date. After all these years. He was way out of my league; much younger than me, with tousled, sunshine blond hair and deep ocean blue eyes. He was amazing company; laughed at my jokes, told me I was beautiful. Charmed me into paying for dinner. I think I bought him some clothes and a gift too afterwards.
Our first Momma and Little Adventurer date.
Miraculous doesn’t even come close to describing this date. This was an experience that two years ago, I never believed could ever happen…in fact, I was pretty sure it never would. Those days when Our Little Adventurer, the apple of my eye, refused to sit still for more than three minutes and had us chasing him around Pizza Express before we accepted our defeat seemed never ending. I cursed parents who posted photos of their little ones in chic sushi bars, whilst we were house and picnic bound for dinner.
This weekend as Jensen and I shopped for new clothes for our family photos, I realised that it was lunchtime. Dadda was eating lunch at home, we ascertained after a quick call on the iPhone (I got a phone!) and so I decided to chance it. We headed into the food gallery at West Quay and wandered over to Eddie’s.
Ed’s is my dream restaurant. It’s the place where, had it been built, all of my teenage years would have been spent drinking thick shakes and wearing circle dresses with full petticoats (much like my wedding dress for the beach barbeque) as I envisioned myself as an Elizabeth Wakefield, dreamed of a hero crossed between Corey Feldman in Dream a Little Dream, and Michael J Fox in Back to the Future, listened to “Dream Lover” and wished Elvis was still alive. I was born in the wrong decade.
I’ve dined at Victoria and Albert’s in Florida and eaten some of the fanciest food in beautiful surroundings. Yet this, sitting here as with my first born son sat gazing at me as we ordered milkshakes together (he stole mine, the mint chocolate one), was magical. Exquisite. He used a fork, talked to me about the world around him, and ordered his own food saying please and thank you.
When our meal was over, and after the Merida-haired waitress tried to adopt my boy as he presented her with the tip, looking slightly like Oliver Twist as he proffered the little silver tray and thanked her (good manners make a man), one of the chefs presented him with a Junior Chef hat. We snapped a photo for the scrapbook and turned to leave.
“Momma,” he said, as his tiny fingers reached for mine, “this was lots of fun. Shall we do this more?”
“Yes,” I replied as I clasped his precious hand and bit my lip to stop my happy-tears. “Of course.”
Oh, my big, beautiful boy. Our magical first….and definitely not our last. You’ll never know how special you are to me, how you make my heart soar. I’m so proud of you.
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