Sunday, September 29, 2013

Night Out As a Mom

Last night I went to a bachelorette party. I am so fucking old. Buddy B is getting married in just over a month and his fiancée's party (Buddy K) was yesterday.

I'd been looking forward to this event for some time. I never get out of the house at night, and though I never really did that before the baby anyway, the novelty of a nightlife experience was thrilling. Anything you can do without the baby with you is very exciting.

The first thing, though, that made me feel like a tired old mom was finding pants. See, I wear dresses almost exclusively. I didn't even own jeans. And good thing too because they probably wouldn't even fit my postpartum ass anymore.

So, because we were all going to wear Tshirts for the bachelorette, I had to get a pair of pants.

This is where things got sad. I thought to myself, "H&M has inexpensive clothes. They have pants. They carry jeans. This will be easy." Pfft. I don't know why I thought this. Denial maybe.

Turns out the only jeans for sale are skinny jeans. Tapered ankles. Or jeggings, which are skinnier than skinny jeans, only without the practicality of a pocket or easy ability to remove your pants to pee. I stuffed myself into both in different varieties and watched as the denim encased my thighs and pushed all fat upwards. This is not a good look.

I looked in other stores and tried on pair after pair of skinny, skinny jeans because that is all there is. And low waists to boot. So, they push all my flesh up and then gives said flesh an immediate opportunity to cascade over the top in glorious muffiny fashion.

I did find a pair of jeans, however, regular waist, bootcut and undamaging to the self-esteem. I now own pants, pants I can wear with shirts. Very exciting. I don't own much in the way of shirts, though, 'cause, you know, dresses.

At the bachelorette, I was given a top that said "Hot Mom", which was fun. Also fun was people at the bar reading our tops and being flabbergasted I was a mother. I like being a mom, but I am exceedingly happy I don't look like one. Though one pair of drunk 40-year-olds thought I was 12 (and in a bar?) and that my motherhood was shocking. They crossed themselves Catholic style, as though they just encountered a bad omen (And I guess I would be the bad omen in this scenario).

The party was a great time, with all the usual penile items, games and food. I didn't get drunk. Buzzed, yes, but I let it wear off. Why? Well, the Dude is at his brother's today helping him paint a basement. I'm alone with Jack now. That's why. Oh yes, no matter how much fun you're having, you can't forget what the next day has in store for you (It's not going to be sleeping in bed all day and waking up at noon for greasy breakfast).

I got home a little after 2:00 and heard Jack gooing and babbling. He's almost 6 months and going through a growth spurt. His sleep has devolved accordingly. I cannot wait for this to be done. I truly do not enjoy these spurts. He needed to be fed at 2:30, which I did, and again at 6:00, which the Dude did. So, really, it was good I was sober by the time I got home. And no hangover today, which I lost the ability to handle with any kind of stamina a long time ago. Some people may think I look 12, but I definitely feel 30.


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