The hair – usually pulled back into a quick and dirty ponytail – was freshly washed and styled.

For the first time in a very long time, I wore makeup and fancy shoes.

And Oliver, my constant companion for the past 10 months, was safely tucked in his crib at home – my husband on standby for any diaper or bottle emergencies.

It was time for a girls’ night out.

In my 20s, a girls’ night out was no special occasion. It was most Friday or Saturday nights. It didn’t matter if we went out for drinks, dancing, dinner or even to see a movie. Gossip, giggles and great conversation were sure to follow. It was a time of carefree fun.

Then, one by one, we all met our future spouses. We married and settled into domestic bliss. We began trading nights on the town for evenings at home with a bottle of wine and the latest new release from the video store.

Then babies arrived and our lives changed for good. Late nights meant dirty diapers and breastfeeding, not dancing and cosmopolitans. We spent our days unshowered and in stretch pants. Outings became walks to the drug store or coffee shop.

We made quick phone calls to each other during naps and saw each other for playdates, but our chats were usually cut short by babies in need of soothing, changing or feeding. We all embraced motherhood, its joys and demands. But from time to time, a small part of us missed those carefree days of designer clothes, hip restaurants and heart-to-heart chats. The days when our lives echoed Sex and the City, not Roseanne.

The women in my mums’ group decided it was time for a girls’ night out. Our destination was a nail salon in the Beaches for an evening of pampering on a dreary, rainy night. The stormy weather did little to put a damper on our fun.

We kicked off our fancy shoes and soaked our feet in blissfully warm, soapy water. For many of us, it was the first time off our feet after a busy day of chasing after toddlers and infants. My last pedicure was a week before my son was born. It felt wonderful to pamper my feet again. Our glasses were filled – and refilled – with chilled champagne and we passed around a tin of decadent chocolates.

We meet as a mums’ group every week, but we weren’t mothers on this particular night. We talked about our lives before baby – where we studied, travelled and worked – and some of us learned we shared friends or experiences in common. We swapped the sweet and often funny stories of how met our spouses and we confided our post-baby career ambitions. We even laughed at our ages, wondering where the years had gone. Were we really in our mid-to-late 30s?!

There were moments, after dashing through the rain to a neighbourhood pub, when we lapsed into baby talk. It is inevitable at a tableful of mothers. But motherhood did not define us on this particular night. It was a taste of our young, carefree days.

When I got home well after midnight – a bit giddy from the champagne – I peeked in on my sleeping boy. As much as I occasionally miss my old, single life, I missed my boy more.

-- Sarah Green

   sarahg@babyontheway.ca