What do you get when you take 20 women away from their babies and add fondue, martinis and wine? Conversations that are better than birth control for the poor waiters that happen to overhear. Up for discussion: the best method to fish floating turds from a bathtub (small fishing net, I kid you not), reasons why you just don’t FUCK with an exhausted mother (especially when it’s YOUR TURN to get the sleeping baby and you hope to have sex again some time this decade), vivid descriptions of various types of diaper rash (including details involving puss and leakage and blood), morning sickness battle stories, a general consensus on just how creepy it can be to suddenly have a walking child that stealthily follows you around like the Bud Ice Penguin, a healthy dash of gossip, and a few innocuous subjects like *yawn* travel and fashion.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall… or at least a bus boy at the Melting Pot for Mom’s Night Out.
This evening also marked a big milestone for us. We found a babysitter! Despite my initial hesitation, excessive cell phone checking and hurried drive home (preparing mentally to console the poor girl after what was surely a night from hell) I arrived to a sleeping baby who didn’t so much as cry while I was gone. Why is that a tad irritating to me? I mean, really? He didn’t even whimper? He just rolled right over and went to sleep? You didn’t tranquilize him? Who are you? Cinderella? Supper Nanny? You must have magic cookies…and I want them.
Oh well, can’t complain, I guess. It was a happy ending for all tonight and sweet dreams are just around the corner.
Kendall is 1 year, and… really, I’m giving this week and day shit up. He’s one freaking year old. Is that not enough?