Date night used to mean getting dressed up, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, Rex in a shirt that wasn’t wrinkled, and maybe a reservation at a restaurant that didn’t have crayons on the tables. Fast forward to now, and “date night” looks like us on the couch, kids finally asleep, Netflix asking if we’re still watching, and me passed out by 9:07 p.m. with a blanket and a drool spot. Sexy, right?
The truth is, I love love love the idea of date night. We plan them sometimes. Like, “Okay, Friday night, we’ll get a babysitter, go somewhere nice.” And then Friday rolls around, and suddenly Rex is exhausted from work, I’m still scraping dried mac and cheese off the dining room chairs, and the babysitter cancels. So instead we grab takeout, plop on the couch, and call it “quality time.” Spoiler: one of us (usually me) falls asleep halfway through the first episode of whatever show we swore we’d watch together.
It’s not that we don’t want to go out. It’s just… energy. The kids zap it all. By the time we’ve wrangled them through homework, baths, the ten-thousandth request for water, and the “but I need my other blanket” routine, our brains are mush. I could be handed front row tickets to a concert and still be like, “Can we… not?” Meanwhile, Rex is already halfway horizontal on the couch with a beer.
The part that kills me is how optimistic we are at the start of the night. I’ll pour a glass of wine, Rex will put on something besides basketball shorts, and we’ll look at each other like, Yeah, tonight’s the night we’re fun again. Then cut to an hour later, me snoring while he’s scrolling on his phone, pausing only to throw a blanket over me. It’s tragic. But also kind of sweet.
And listen, sometimes those lazy couch nights are actually better than going out. No crowds, no babysitter math, no worrying if Anthony is trying to flush Legos down the toilet while we’re gone. It’s just us, sitting in our mess, too tired to care, and somehow that feels like the most honest version of love right now. No fancy dress required.
So yes, I fall asleep on date night. Often. Rex teases me about it, but he also doesn’t move me, because let’s be real — he likes having the remote to himself. And honestly? These nights, as unglamorous as they are, still matter. They’re the glue between the chaos. They’re our reminder that even though the kids take 95% of our energy, there’s still this little corner of the day that’s just ours — even if I spend most of it unconscious.