“Have fun, we’ll be home by 11. Help yourself to anything in the fridge,” I said to the babysitter as I sauntered out the door for a rare, long-awaited date night. An hour later, I clinked glasses with my husband and sipped Prosecco before the Philharmonic. I’d left my 16-month-old baby with another woman for the first time and was overcome with emotion.
“Are you OK?” My husband asked.
“No —” I started, as I ate a French fry soaked in ketchup. “I’m…great!”
I thought it would be harder to leave my daughter with a babysitter
I expected that my first experience leaving my daughter with someone who wasn’t a family member would be difficult, accompanied by a range of feelings. I hadn’t expected joy to be one of them.
But after six years of infertility, greeting my child’s caregiver for a night out, a typical scene most would take for granted, was surreal and exciting. Not because of what I got in return (a few special hours with my husband), but because of what it provided emotionally — fulfillment.
Growing up a movie buff, films informed a lot of what I knew about life. I’d watched countless scenes where parents interacted with a babysitter before leaving for the evening. “Adventures in Babysitting,” “Baby Boom,” “When A Stranger Calls,” even “Mary Poppins.” When I became a nanny, I acted out that same moment hundreds of times. Saying goodbye to the mom or dad as they shuffled off to events. Dressing their child in pajamas laid out on the bed. Whispering to the returning parents, “How was it?”
Motherhood was hard-won for me, and I wanted to celebrate this milestone
I enjoyed the profession of childcare for a long time. Until my miscarriage in 2018. After that, being a 38-year-old full-time babysitter came with an indelible sting. Beneath each jovial playdate, dinner, or bath, I felt the quiet weight of my loss.
“Always a nanny, never a mom,” I muttered to myself on my way to the school pick up, after my second pregnancy loss. I wondered if I’d ever be a parent, destined to care for other people’s children.
Eventually, I pivoted from watching kids to walking dogs. Then, after many IVF cycles, I finally gave birth to my miracle baby in the summer of 2024, at the age of 43.
Almost a year and a half later, when I found myself on the other side of the parent-sitter exchange, it was poignant. I’d feared the moment might never arrive. Now I felt grown up, and somehow, more confident as a new mother. I realized there’s so much focus on highlighting baby’s moments, we often overlook that parents should find joy in celebrating their milestones too, however small.
A survey conducted earlier this year found that parents experience 50 milestones with their babies in the first year of parenthood. Since having a baby, I’ve marked down, praised, and filmed every single act of growth she’s experienced. From tummy time as a newborn, to her saying “mama.” Observing her changes through the months has brought immeasurable joy.
But on our night out at dinner, knowing she was home with someone I trusted, I admit it — I wasn’t worried about my daughter. I was having fun, and noting my own milestone this time. Noting milestones like this as a parent is a typically overlooked practice. Yet, celebrating adult achievements, of any size, can be good for one’s health. From something as simple as taking intentional enjoyment in the post-birth meal to the first time feeling accomplished as a parent, adults should acknowledge their own transformations.
When we got home from the concert, I hugged the babysitter goodbye and hit send on her payment. Changing into my sweatpants, I basked in the glow of my full circle night and felt comfort in my small moment of growth.
