This is 30

Well, not for several weeks but we're gun jumpers as you well know. And don't fret - this isn't going to be a feel goody good "bring it on, 30!!" nor will it be a nostalgia ridden adieu to my 20's because ... who cares.

We went out this weekend with another couple for some drinks and some laughs and some fun on Friday night. It was great. I had to pry Sebastian off my leg, throw him into the sitters arms, and sprint out of the house in my wedges because the kid decided to time his short (short!!) stint as "mama's boy" to fall right when it would hit me where it almost hurt. No guilt trips here, Bash. We spend so much time together that I'm scared I'm going to start saying "piss" out in public instead of "please" just like you do. Well, actually, your version is more of a real quick, "pisspiss!!" with a head nod but I don't think I'd go that far before someone's cockeye burned me good. 

I did not want to suffer the wrath of any sort of hangover so I was sure to hydrate like a guppy headed for a life of landlocked all day Friday. I gave myself pep talks about drinking water in between drinks even though I've never ever had the self control to do that sort of silly thing but still ... I believe in my future self, sometimes. We got to the first bar where I enjoyed a sugary mixed drink (fine! it was a Cosmo but has anyone ordered one of those in the last six years?! I froze, I know) and then ordered a .... water. Good Grace. At the second bar I had one delicious mojito and then cut myself off. Two drinks ... one giant water and you know how I felt when Sebastian started cock-a-doodling at 6:30 on Saturday morning? Like death. Like oven fried death. All day. Simon had a lot more drinks than I did and felt fine. Or he's a liar but ... he did hours of yardwork in the buh-lazing sun so ... I think he felt a lot less deathy than his whiff did.

slit eyes don't lie though ...

Simon made his requisite joke when we got carded at the first place about how Costco cards should double as ids because who in their right mind under the age of 21 would be toting one of those bad boys around? Funny because it's true and it wasn't my joke.

While getting ready to go out I ran a few outfits by Simon and the denim shorts didn't cut it because he thought they might be too casual. The pink pants didn't work because I deemed them way too, "oh, what color is that spray paint on your legs? fuchsia or is it more of a magenta?". I was frustrated because 5.5 months postpartum does not a fun body make (I'll only play the postpartum card for .5 more months ... swear) so I texted my New Mexican bff for help. We settled on some pleated and cuffed white longish shorts that I'm pretty sure my mom would've rocked in the early 90s when she was in her 31-year-old prime. Don't worry Bettina - I'll never be able to rock the pixie like you did - and I'll never ever ever try. It turns out that fancy pants Simone was wrong as we sat next to a lady wearing a t-shirt and capri sweat pants so ... his advice rights are revoked. Forever.

But I think Tara's dress trumped my t-shirt so ... she wins.
 
At the second and final bar I weaseled my way through the dance floor to get to the bathroom. I'm no stranger to a little glow stick miming, interpretive dancing, and top 40 remixing but I'll admit that a fish out of water felt more comfortable than I did on my sojourn to and from the stalls. As we were walking out and paused to wait for the guys to make use of the facilities I caught my eyes darting all over the room ... weirdly worried that the young women might fall victim to a little sneaky something slipped into their drinks by any of the male patrons - which was ridiculous but ...... I'm fun.

On Monday morning I let my iPod drift into the bowels of an old playlist and ran to a little Chamillionaire. Riding/running/speedwalking dirty. When I dove into the nearest driveway, crouched, and cringed all in the same second as soon as the song turned into a (fake - of course) loud automobile accident and I was sure me and my cargo were going to be killed on the spot but soon realized my headphones were the bearer of simulated news ... I grabbed my heart off my foot and had a good chuckle at my own geriatric expense.

Sebastian just tricked me into letting him sit on Julia's little potty where he promptly took aim and saturated my right foot, shoe included. All I want for my birthday + anniversary + Christmas is a new set of measuring cups and measuring spoons because making bran muffins and measuring ingredients by the 1/3 cup and 1/8 tsp is gettin ril old.

So, this is 30 and this is parenthood and this is mostly okay.

I think.