There’s nothing quite like the stomach-dropping anxiety of introducing your children to someone you’re dating. It’s like blending two separate sitcoms into one crossover episode and hoping no one throws a tantrum or reveals your weirdest habits.
Ryan and I had been dancing around this milestone for a while. He’d asked gently, never pushing. “Whenever it feels right,” he said. And after returning from Spain, after a lot of thinking (and maybe one late-night panic text to my friend Sophie), I decided it was time.
We kept it simple: an afternoon in the park. Familiar territory for the kids, neutral ground for me, and open space for Ryan to make a quick getaway if Max decided to bite him (again, not a metaphor—he’s teething aggressively for a three-year-old).
The kids were already at the playground when Ryan arrived. Jack was hanging upside down from the monkey bars, Lily was singing to a worm she’d found, and Max was licking a swing. I braced myself.
“Hi, I’m Ryan,” he said with a smile, crouching slightly to be at eye-level.
Jack looked him up and down like a tiny bodyguard. “Do you like dinosaurs?”
“Love them,” Ryan replied without hesitation. “Except velociraptors. You can’t trust anything with a name that long.”
Jack snorted, which in Jack-language is a sign of respect.
Lily stepped forward next. “You don’t look Spanish.”
Ryan blinked. “I don’t?”
“No. You’re wearing socks with your sandals.”
I buried my face in my hands. Ryan just laughed.
Max, meanwhile, stared at him like he was deciding whether Ryan was edible. Then, in a sudden act of toddler diplomacy, he offered Ryan a soggy biscuit. Peace had been made.
We spent the next hour watching the kids run around while Ryan tried his best to keep up with their chatter. Lily made him pinky promise to never step on worms, and Jack asked if he’d ever been in a sword fight. Ryan, bless him, gave the most serious, thoughtful answers to every question.
At one point, while Max napped in my lap and the other two were debating whether clouds are made of marshmallows, I caught Ryan watching me. He smiled. Not the polite kind, but the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the most inconvenient way.
“You’re kind of amazing,” he said.
“They didn’t scare you off?”
“They did. Terrified. But in a good way.”
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know how this fits into my already chaotic life. But I do know that seeing Ryan patiently listen to Jack’s 11-minute explanation of the Jurassic era, and let Lily paint his fingernails with imaginary polish, did something to me.
Maybe we’re not just blending sitcoms. Maybe we’re building something entirely new.
And if it all goes to hell? At least he promised not to step on any worms.