Saturday night I went out. Wait a minute, yes. You read that right. I went out. No, not to a play date, play group or grocery store. Not somewhere with the baby at all. Not even with Skylar. Out at night. After bedtime. With ladies who don’t have babies. Girl’s night, if you will.
This happens about every month an a half or 2 months. Is that normal for a mom? I’m not sure if I have no life, or I’m a social butterfly. I am sure that 1) most people out after bedtime are people without bedtimes & 2) those people do not have to act like parents at 6 a.m.
It started innocently enough, at a bar in Lincoln Park. I had a Manhattan, some beer, some snacks. We did a lot of talking. Then, we went to a champagne party at Jen’s brother’s friend’s house around the corner.
We walk into this giant 3 story apartment, definitely renovated in the 70’s in a parent’s-basement-meets-frat-house-bachelor-pad decor, if you will. The men wore tuxes. Ladies in little black dresses. Plastic 50’s style champagne glasses were offered up with either a blue berry or raspberry nestled in the bottom. Imagine Holly Golightly, if she was a man. Instead of a bathtub turned into a couch, there was a kegerator and game called beer pong. I went to art school, so this was another world to me. A world I did not stay long in, but paid the price for.
Sunday, Skylar, bless his heart, got a taste of what being a single father would be like. I had 4 Advil, and did not make it out of our bedroom till the afternoon. Goodness.