Why You Shouldn't Bring Your Baby on a Date

No Matter How Cute They Are

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

Most people pay little heed to signs. You know the kind—portents, omens, harbringers of bad juju—but I’m not most people. I read my daily horoscope, spend a good amount of time interpreting my own dreams, and look for synchronicities in my daily life. So, how I didn’t see this disaster of a date coming, I’ll never know.

I met Jimmy through eHarmony, a dating website. I know, probably a bad idea for a gal who grew up in the 80s, but I was desperate. He was no Brad Pitt, but he was active and good-looking enough, and I’m certainly no Angelina. I was a single mother, fresh out of a loveless ten-year relationship, looking to dip my toes into the dating pool. We planned to go hiking at a local trail, a hobby we both enjoyed, according to his profile. And really, what better way is there to get to know someone than on a nature walk?

You know how people say that plans sometimes go awry? Well, back then, my plans never seemed to go right. I had just finished showering and started shaving my legs when my cell rings.

“Hey, Momma.”

“Hey, Kathy.” I immediately know something is off, and not only in her tone. Momma always calls me ‘hunny’ or ‘Kat’, unless she has something serious to say. This won’t be good.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I already know the part that matters.

“I’m sorry, Kathy. Daddy tested positive for Covid, so we can’t take care of Tiff today.”

Well shit. So much for the nature walk. For those of you who don’t know, being a single parent is hard. Dating as a single parent is harder still, unless you’re well-off enough to hire a sitter. I barely make enough money to cover daycare, and Tiff’s father is about as useful as a broken washing machine. I hang up with Momma and sit down on the edge of the bathtub to text Jimmy.

‘Hey, handsome.’

I see him typing a reply almost right away, like he’d been waiting next to the phone for my text. Shit. That means he’s more than a little interested, right? Normally, I’d consider that a good thing, especially since today’s horoscope said that the stars favored open conversation. Right now, all I feel is a vague sense of disappointment. His reply makes it worse.

‘Hey, back! I just stopped at a gas station to grab some water. Want anything?’

Oh, man, he’s thoughtful, too! This really sucks. I sigh and squeeze the bridge of my nose. ‘Actually, my mom just bailed on me. Covid. Really sorry, can I give you a rain check?’

A full minute passes before he responds. Long enough for me to think I’ve blown it, but then I see he’s writing a response, and I allow myself to hope a little.

‘You have a kid? Your profile doesn’t mention that.’

Shit. Well, I see where this is going. I feel a stab of annoyance. Not everyone puts their whole lives online, you know. I mean, it’s not like that information is important for a first date, is it?

‘Yeah, she’s 18 months. I don’t usually throw out the baby thing until the second date.’

Another pause. This one is shorter. ‘I think that’s cute. How would you feel about ice skating instead? Tonight. Bring the baby, and I can meet you both?’

Wow! Not the answer I expected, but hey. Not every guy is a dick, I suppose.

I hesitate at first—I never planned to bring every guy I meet into Tiff’s life—but in the end, I reply hell yeah. I figure she’s only 18 months, and if this doesn’t work out, she won’t remember it anyway. With some new pep in my step, I finish shaving before Tiff wakes up and forces me to leave my legs unfinished.

A few hours later, I take Tiff out for some Chinese, and an hour later, we’re at Frosty’s Ice Skating and Hockey Palace, waiting on the man of the hour.

Jimmy arrives, and maybe it’s his apparent willingness to overlook the fact that I’ve got a baby daughter, but to me, he looks better than his photos. I can tell he’s been to see a barber because his beard lines are sharp and clean. He’s wearing blue jeans and a grey V-neck sweater over a plain white T-shirt. Butterflies flit about in my chest as he approaches us.

First thing he does after shaking my hand is to kneel in front of Tiff and exclaim how beautiful she is, how cute her little pink jacket looks, and how her mommy is going to be in a lot of trouble when she gets older. Tiff grins when Jimmy gives her a little tickle under the chin, and I feel my heart melt. That’s how we start the night.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a reason to feel giddy. We rent our skates, and I carry Tiff out on the ice. Jimmy moves to the side I’m carrying Tiff on, and I realize he’s positioning himself to catch her if something happens to make me drop her. He has an easy smile, and he’s an easy talker. I’m a natural listener, so it works well for both of us. I find myself hoping he sticks around for a few more dates.

We move along the outside edge of the rink and keep it slow. Tiff loves it, alternating between drooly grins and burying her head in my chest. Jimmy and I chat about all the usual nonsense that people talk about on first dates. How do you like your job and family, what are your goals, and do you want more kids? He asks about my divorce, but doesn’t push when he senses the areas I don’t want to talk about.

It’s all going great until I hear a commotion behind me. I turn to look and see several teenagers with faces twisted, looking like they had either just eaten the world’s most sour lemons or someone had shit themselves.

It turns out to be the latter.

They’re saying something I can’t make out and pointing at a brown trail on the ice behind me. My eyes follow the trail as an awful sensation of dread begins to settle in my stomach. The trail leads right to my skate, continues up my pant leg, the bottom of my shirt, and to Tiff.

At this point, I also realize my right arm and ribs are warmer than they should be.

I hold her away from me, understanding much too late that my poor baby had a blowout. A really bad one. Perhaps Chinese hadn’t been such a good idea.

Jimmy sees what happened and turns quite a few shades paler before color returns. Only it isn’t a healthy color, more like pea soup. The next thing I know, he loses his dinner right there on the ice.

I won’t gross you out with descriptions of look and smell. Let it be enough to say that he sets off a chain reaction, starting with two of the teenagers behind us.

It’s been two weeks since that night, and he hasn’t called me back or texted. Not even to acknowledge my apologies. I can’t say I blame him.