It's Thursday afternoon, my third week back at work after maternity leave. This day was marked in red on my calendar—team drinks after hours. I was excited to skip bedtime routines and dive into adult conversations beyond kid talk.
"You're coming too, right?" my colleagues urged. No longer breastfeeding, I was free to join. My husband was picking up the kids from daycare, leaving my evening open. Pure luxury.
I biked through the city to the bar square, a spot from my pre-kid days filled with late nights and early-morning bakery runs. Inside, the cozy vibe enveloped our great team. I ordered a Sauvignon Blanc—it had been ages—and settled into lively chats and laughter. For a moment, it felt like old times; the temptation to stay for dinner and more wine was strong. Work tomorrow? I'd survive on little sleep, just like with the kids.
Then, glancing out, I spotted my ocean-blue bike seat. It snapped me back to my two sweet boys. Checking my watch—6:30 p.m.—a thought hit: "Head home now, and I can kiss my three-month-old goodnight and tuck in my oldest."
"No," I countered internally. "You've been away—enjoy this freedom. You'll see them tomorrow." But looking around, many colleagues were leaving. Did I really want to stay, or just because I could?
Soon, I was biking home. Opening the door, a cheerful "Mom!" echoed from upstairs. My two-year-old bombarded me with daycare tales. Peeking in, I saw my baby fast asleep—heart-melting. We cozied up on the couch with hubby and toddler, reading endless books until I declared, "Goodnight kiss time." Bedtime ran late, leaving us tired but fulfilled.
"Have fun?" hubby asked, surprised. Smiling, I admitted I was "getting old" and it felt right. "Next time," I added.
In bed by 9:30 p.m., I realized I could still be out, but nothing beats those home moments. No wine or night out compares to family right now.
