Do you know what’s awesome?

The first real night out after having a baby.

Especially when it’s a Saturday night,

at the beach,

at a lovely restaurant,

with wonderful friends.

Even though you may have had anxiety all day leading up to the big event,

and even though you commissioned your own grandparents to watch the baby,

and insisted on leaving them approximately 10,281 instructions on how to take care of an infant,

even though they took care of you,

and your mother,

and even though you had approximately 7 minutes to get ready,

between sterilizing bottles, pumping milk and holding onto your baby for dear life, as you could barely bring yourself to walk out the front door,

you made it.

Or, I should say, I made it.

I put on mascara.

I brushed my hair.

I got out of the house.

I left my baby in my grandmother’s arms,

said a prayer,

and was on my way.

And because I, of course, could be the coolest cool new mom and have a real night out, I made the decision to indulge in a glass of champagne,

which was my very first alcoholic beverage in an entire year.

Oh, do you know what’s awesome?

Taking that glorious glass of champagne

and knocking it over,

sending it spilling out, in it’s bubbly entirety,

all over my friend’s shirt.

I mean, how cool can you get?

Or, should I say, how much do you want to crawl under the table and hide?

I did.

So, my first night out may have proved that I am not cool as I once was.

Or, at least, thought I was.

I may no longer be able to handle my liquor,

or even just one sip of champagne.

I may no longer have hours to primp before a Saturday night date.

I may no longer be able to dine past the hour of 6pm,

but hey, I got out.

I left my baby in someone else’s arms,

and guess what?

I even managed to have a great time,

and relax,

as soon as I crawled out from under the table, of course.

Do you know the best part of going out with great friends, to a delicious restaurant, on a hot Summer night at the beach really is?

No, it was not the champagne.

Nor was it the night out,

but that was a close second.

The best part was walking back through the front door and seeing my daughter’s sleepy-eyed face,

and getting to kiss her creamy cheeks,

and getting to put her to bed, and to sing her to sleep.

I guess when you become a parent,

the best part of going out,

may actually be

coming back home

again.