"The booking is for 8pm".
My eyes drooped and I yawned. "Tell me you're joking..." He shook his head. No.
Instead of a big party for my thirtieth, I had chosen to do two things: have a lunch with friends on the actual day, and go out for dinner with Steve on the Saturday night.
Any parents may understand the novelty factor here - having dinner alone! - and, for us, it was an extra exciting prospect given that Abbey would be having her first ever sleepover. Not only could we enjoy a night out together, we wouldn't have to rush home in fear of feeling guilty keeping a babysitter up too late AND we could sleep in the next morning.
Now that is a birthday treat.
Steve and I had decided to go somewhere really, really nice for dinner. We desperately wanted to avoid anywhere that we could have gone with Abbey - we wanted a very child-unfriendly restaurant - so we looked up various restaurants run by celebrity chefs and some top-name places (we're spoiled for choice in Melbourne), eventually settling on a well-known French restaurant in an inner suburb.
Steve rang to make the booking and, two weeks ahead of time they were already pushed to fit us in. They only had one time left. 8pm.
We are early eaters. 6pm is our dinnertime of choice. You might say that we have to eat earlier now that we have a child, but the truth is we always ate early. It's just something we like to do.
So, although I was looking forward to a night out, I was dreading eating at such a grown-up hour. I just hoped my stomach wouldn't rumble too loudly when we arrived.
In the end, 8pm was a perfect time. It gave us a chance to take Abbey to my parents' house, sit and have a chat, then come home and get ready without rushing. I might actually do dinner at 8pm again. One day.