Wherein I Start Writing about Parenthood Again - Like I Was Supposed to Be Doing

Depending on how you look at it, I hit an all-time high or an all-time low in my parenting the other night. I'm going with all-time high owing to the ingenuity and on-the-spot decision-making I exhibited. Since this is my blog and my story, my opinion is the one that counts.

All you mothers should totally be taking this stance too...blog or no blog. Last time I checked the thesaurus I could not find where 'parenthood' was a synonym for 'everyone should judge me for the choices I make when raising MY child because someone who spends less than 24 HOURS A DAY with my child is probably way more informed than I am and should voice their opinion even if I didn't ask for it."

Wow. Where was I?

All-time high.

I go shopping for myself roughly once every six and a half years. Not because I don't have the time or the money (though there's not much of either), but because I hate it. There's the crowds of people who make you wonder how they managed to get out of their house alive, the sorting through 1,343,587 items of clothes to find the one piece that makes you look less fat than all the others and the 'I most definitely would rather be sleeping' factor.

So when I needed to go buy a new pair of shoes for an upcoming event, I was less than enthusiastic.

The shopping isn't the focus of this story, but I will have you know my superpower is going to the discount shoe store and finding the three pairs of shoes NOT on any sort of sale and with no discount from their designer counterpart. And of course, I had to have all three. I'll also have you know, I have since returned two of those pairs of shoes and can now afford to eat the rest of this week.

The point is, I was out of my house and in a public place that was not a doctor's office (which seems to be the only reason I leave the house these days). This was a pretty big deal.

So when the girlfriend I was with suggested we grab a quick cocktail at the end of our shopping jaunt, I got caught up in the moment and agreed.

Even though The Bean was with me. Even though she would be hungry in mere minutes. Even though it was nearing bedtime.

I was desperate to feel like myself for half an hour. Not Mama. Not Wife. Not Worker X at Company Y. Just me.

We sat down, placed our orders and immediately the judge machine in my head whirred to life. "You know The Bean is about to be hungry and as soon as you have this drink, you won't be able to feed her for two hours. There isn't a bottle of pumped milk at home so you're going to have to use formula. It's her bedtime Right. Now. You're messing with the schedule just as soon as you created it. Why are you doing this, you selfish beast of a woman. Shame. SHAME. SHAME."

And then The Bean started fussing.

So before our drinks came, I went to the restroom to change her diaper. At least I could solve one issue.

The changing table was inside the handicap stall - which is a critical piece of information. You see, once The Bean was on the table and I was bending over her to change her diaper, I noticed something. Something very interesting.

Her head was at boob level.

Oh yes I did.

5 minutes later, The Bean was changed and had enough of a snack to fall asleep while Mama enjoyed her cocktail and good conversation related to nothing about children, work or husbands.

Sometimes you just need to press the sanity reset button. Even when you feel insane doing so.