It sounds like the title to a Fall Out Boy song, right? Unlike many FOB titles, though, this song, ahem blog, is actually about boozing and buzz-kills. Kinda.
See, I went out tonight with a dear friend of mine, someone I see far too little of. We went to a restaurant catering to stereotypical women who drink wine. Neither this friend nor I are that stereotypical....well, at least when it comes to wine. She opted for a sangria. Okay, so I had wine in an oh-so-cliche move, but I did decide on a flight, so I didn't just have a glass of wine. I had four. I'm still grinning to myself about it.
As women do, we moaned a little about our lives, fretted about the impossible balance between our personal (motherhood) and our professional personas, and talked about those things we all catch up on when we haven't seen each other in too long. Then we moved on to the real stuff. We talked about our feelings on motherhood, our children's less-than-perfectness, and the decisions that have brought us to these places in life that encourage us to drink four glasses of wine (me) or one, modest glass of sangria (her).
By the end, I had decided several things. 1. I should really drink more. Not just at home, but out in public! A glass of wine (or four) really loosens me up to the shit that I really want to talk about. It also allows me to throw my head back and laugh at my nonsense life in a way I haven't been able to do since I had kids. 2. We. Are. All. The. Same. I don't mean that in a non-PC, we can't give special people special allowances kind of way, but when it comes right down to it, our problems are different, our circumstances vary, but we moms really all deal with the same frustrations and the same real desire to sit at home in sweatpants instead of skinny jeans. Admit it. You know you want to. 3. Good friends are too good to see too little of.
Oh, and 4. No matter how much fun you have out with your girlfriends, you WILL have to go home and reality WILL kick you in the throat. No, seriously. I got home and went in to give each of my sleeping angels a kiss. I left before bedtime, something that I very rarely do and always feel incredibly guilty about. So I covered my little man up and brushed his forehead with a kiss and moved on to my girl. I pulled the covers up ever so gently to her chin. She blinked a little and I smiled down at her. I imagine this moment in my head now, now that my four-glasses-of wine-buzz is gone, like it would be filmed for a movie - I'm too close, so my features are distorted. My grin is all crazy and clown-like (ie, buzzy and scary). I smile down at her and say "I love you," but she probably only notices my thick tongue and, in her sleepy stupor, is really just plain creeped out by me hovering over her face trying to kiss her. And she FREAKS out. She sobbed for 10 minutes about wanting mommy while I held her and tried to convince her that despite my two hours of blissfully adult conversation, palatal indulgence (because let's be fair, when the kids come out to dinner, I don't get to order seared Ahi tuna), and a limited moments to pretend I am the woman I was before I became "Mommy," that I was, indeed, Mommy and I was right here.
And I am. Becoming Mommy really always brings us back around to just that. And while wine and good, honest conversation will always be too seldom had and too short-lived, it is always with good reason that we moms stay home to rush in every time our little ones whimper for us. It's because we're good at being moms, despite missing the women we were sometimes.
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