My Mom came down for the weekend, which was really wonderful. And I’m not saying that just because she reads the blog. When she called to confirm her itinerary, she announced "I don’t want to do any big Mother’s Day stuff. I just want to spend time with Noah and for you two to get out and spend some time together."

It was very sweet, but of course this is our FIRST Mothers’ Day, so we wanted "big Mothers’ Day stuff." And can you imagine how weird it would be to celebrate Mother’s Day, with Mom there, without Mom?

On Saturday, we saw a play, Alexander, Who’s Not, Not, Not, Not, Not Going to Move, directed by our wonderful babysitter, Clint. Then we went out for an early dinner, and saw Akeelah and the Bee. While we were doing that, Noah had his colorful meltdown with Grandma, who thinks he has GERD. (Which could be true, I’d been starting to wonder about that myself.)

Sunday was less frenetic and equally lovely. Maybe even better.

Noah got up at 5:30 am, but he didn’t fuss until after I’d gotten the coffee started. (And Jill went downstairs and got me some after Noah demanded breakfast.) He’s started hanging out for 5 or maybe even almost 10 minutes in the morning, after he wakes up, before getting upset that he’s alone. It’s lovely.

Everyone else got up a little later, and we went out for "brunch" at shortly before 9 am. Later in the morning, Noah and I took a nap, Grandma took a nap, and then Jill took a nap. Poor Jill was exhausted. She stayed up later than I did, enjoying a number of episodes of The Facts of Life, since Season 1 & Season 2 recently arrived at our house on DVD. (They’re great, by the way.)

Grandma, Noah and I took a long walk around a local campus, the day after graduation. It was pretty, if a little bit trashed from all the celebrating. Hopefully Grandma will send pictures soon.

Then Jill and I went out for an early fancy romantic dinner date.

It’s one of our favorite extremely special occasion restaurants ever. All the tables are small, the layout is intimate, and we’d even managed to reserve the special separate dining room in the corner of the restaurant. It’s a cosy little room, maybe 10×12. The floor is covered with a thick, soft mat, and layers and layers of cushions. The walls are upholstered with soft fabric. The table is a low lazy susan. And the food at the restaurant is fabulous — great quality food, imaginatively prepared, paired with very nice wines.

In case it isn’t totally obvious from the description, it is the last restaurant I’ve eaten in where I would ever expect to see children. Especially babies.

While we were settling into our cushioned little nest, we joked with the restaurant about how happy we were that we were NOT going to hear any babies during this meal. No one was going to be crying. Or at least we hoped not. Later, when I was being difficult about the wine, I joked that I was trying to make her cry, and how was that going?

I should really know better. My relationship to absolute statements, especially the word "never" but including anything that hints at "neverness," is always dicey. I have done every single thing I have ever specifically sworn I was never going to do.

Fifteen minutes into our evening, another young couple with a baby came into the restaurant. We heard the waitress saying "Wow, gee, a stroller? Ummmmmm, I’m not sure where I should seat you. Do any of these tables look to you like they would work?" She tried to discourage them, subtley, but since the restaurant was fairly quiet, she didn’t tell them they couldn’t have a table. Apparently the babysitter cancelled at the last minute.

Another fifteen minutes later, of course the baby started to cry. And she cried, off and on, the whole rest of the time we were there.

At least we weren’t responsible for her, but, the crying did generate that "milk letdown" feeling in me.

And we thought it was more funny than annoying. (But we also promised each other, and the waitress, that we would cancel our reservations if the baby had to join us for dinner. There are tons of baby-friendly restaurants in our area, although none as nice or delicious as this one.)

When we got home, Noah was beginning to meltdown again. Fortunately, he was distracted (first by the comic genius of Mommy’s hair, and then by a bath) and then fed, snuggled, and put to bed. Which Mommy did to herself a little while later. And is going to do again now.