So Brian and I finally decided to go on our first overnight away from Luke since he was born. I mean, Brian has been away for work, but I have not. This has been a long while in the making, just ask Brian. Until now, I really did not have the need to stay away, and really, until two weeks ago, the thought of it made me physically nauseous. I know that I should be embarrassed to be saying I don’t need me time, especially in this day and age where women everywhere can get all the me time they need, but to use one of Luke’s phrases, “I didn’t wannit.”  But the opportunity arose, and I suddenly felt okay about it all. So we booked it. Four whole days in advance.

The hardest part of the night was leaving Luke without showing him I was crying.  But I did it.
We were dressed up, like adults on a date night. No diaper bags, no snot mark on the shoulder of my new dress, no crayons or playdough in my purse to let everyone know that we were parents. The only tell we showed, was my phone placed strategically face up on the dinner table in the dim light of the dining spot reminiscent of a Tuscan ristorante. That, and the fact that I tapped it approximately once every three minutes to make sure I wasn’t missing the frantic texts describing how a bird swooped in the open window, caught fire on the stove and misconstrued Luke’s efforts to help him as an act of aggression leading them to swirl around in the flooded kitchen in a death grip…oh wait, that was Rachel Green’s fear. Mine was based on Luke not going to sleep for my parents and brother who so bravely took on his care for the night.  Spoiler alert-he fell asleep, very easily, and slept the whole night with no issues. (Yey, Uncle Michael!)

We took a packed cable car on the way to dinner. Standing room only, and only on the loading deck with the rear brake guy who had to use his whole body weight to use the break while swinging vigorously back and forth on the platform which included Rear Brake Guy, me, Brian, and three other guys. Oh, and since I was the last one on, I was almost the first one off during a sharp left turn. Once we got to dinner, we tried to keep our conversation off of Luke, but that was hilarious. Dinner was delicious, as was the bottle of wine we shared like grown ups. On our walk back to the hotel, we realized that the martini bar we had read about was at the top of the hotel in the next building. How do we pass up that opportunity??? We didn’t.

Top of the Mark is an amazing martini bar housed on the 19^th floor Penthouse level of the Mark Hopkins Hotel, offering a 360 degree view. It was established in 1939, and has been a huge hit ever since. It did not disappoint. We listened to a live band complete with a gorgeous singer, watched dancers, chose from over 100 martinis and even danced ourselves! And we laughed at ourselves the whole night! (Sample from our conversation: Me: “Do you think our waiter is French?” Brian: “Well I would guess so, his name is Luc.” (Said in the tone of the movie French Kiss) Me: “Really?!” Brian: “No, his name tag said ‘Mario’.”) It was perfect! We stumbled down the hill after they played the last song of the night, took a few blurry pictures of the night skyline, and fell into a fitfull night of sleep on a dreamy bed. (It will take more than one night for me to get comfortable sleeping without the monitor next to my bed-at one point, I actually got up and checked my phone as if it was the monitor.)

When it was late enough for me to feel like I had “slept in,” we decided to get up, get out and head to breakfast. (7:25 am is sleeping in, right?) We enjoyed a hungover relaxed breakfast at the Ferry Building, bought the requisite gift (super cute Jellycat frog) for the child we left in the care of the doting grandparents and uncle, and made our way home. Luke ran to the door like we had been gone overnight and we got smooches and hugs, and then he promptly grabbed the frog and went back to playing with Grandpopper, whose parents we found out were married at the Mark Hopkins! Who knew? I knew I felt a connection there, I guess it wasn’t just the French 75 martini!