Mom’s Night Out

After the week I had with Tantruming Hadley and Sleepless Bode, I was in dire need of a Girl’s Night Out. Fortunately, my friend Julie delivered. She’s part of my mom’s hiking group that has kept me from entering a mental institution since The Early Hadley Days. You know. Those ones where I only got three hours of sleep for months on end. Ahh, good times.

We planned to meet at a trendy downtown restaurant for tapas. I had never heard of this place because, as I was reminded, I am anything but trendy these days. I arrived late due to Bode’s feeding schedule. Simply translated for all those who’ve never nursed out there: scheduling around explosive mammaries due to prolonged absences from Junior is one of the many highlights of breastfeeding.

The area was a zoo. Unbeknownst to Julie, there was a huge outdoor fashion show across the street. Oodles of single yuppies roamed the area. You know the type: the ones pulled from a Sex in the City episode who wear the latest black fashions and starve themselves for weeks in order to fit into them.

And then there was me. Still in my maternity clothes because I refuse to go buy fat-girl ones until I lose my baby weight (is anyone else relating here?) Oh, and my leaking mammaries. I felt like shaking things up by proudly announcing to my friends that I had actually showered that day, which inspired a 10-minute confessional of their lack of hygiene those early weeks with Baby.

That is one of the many reasons why I love ‘em. They’re all down-to-earth former career gals who’d rather haul their babies up the mountains than hit the mall. And there’s nothing like a Girl’s Night Out, away from babies and husbands to talk about what else? Babies and husbands. Occasionally, someone will slip by mentioning something they read on my blog but as my closet blog readers, they will immediately clam up. Because how humiliating would that be to actually admit they have nothing better to do. Yes, you “no-comment people” know who you are.

My explosive mammaries and I left early at 9:45 p.m. Sure, we could’ve stayed longer but then I had a flash of girl-gone wild-kinda insanity: I could go grocery shopping. By myself. Without screaming kids.

Who says I don’t know how to party?

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