Sunday, April 19, 2015

I Promise I'm Still Cool

Sometimes I feel insecure around my childless friends because I’m poorly groomed and almost never night drive (bedtime is 7pm, yo).  I worry that I’ve lost my edge and that I am no longer cool.  Who are we kidding?  I wasn’t cool before.  But I could fake it by showing up at a bar and pretending not to have a sensory overload by nodding my head and nursing an adult beverage.  Now I am constantly RSVPing no to spur of the moment get-togethers and all my clothes are from Target and are made of jersey.  And the one who nurses beverages…also regularly poops her pants…and it’s not me (NOR HAS IT EVER BEEN!).

But then I got to thinking about all the things I do that actually make me the pinnacle of cool. I’m pretty sure the young folk don’t refer to themselves as cool.  They probably went back to groovy or something…but I can dig it. 

Things I do that are cool:
1.       Eat at trendy restaurants.  Portland is one of those super cool places where the best restaurants don’t take reservations so you have to wait two hours on a Sunday to get in.  NOT ME!  Because I go on Thursdays at 8 am!  No line!  Same food.  I’m up anyway. 
2.      Get drunk on weeknights.  At home.  In my basement.  On one large glass of white wine. 
3.      Wear leggings as pants.  That’s what the young people do, right?
4.      Rock the #ijustwokeuplikethis look.  I rock it best at 6:30 am.  And then just keep rocking it all day…and all niiiiiiight. 
5.      Have sick dance moves.  Or at least that’s what Booberry thinks.  She especially likes the pony, aka, when I pretend I am one and she’s “thrown” “WHOAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”  It’s like the greatest thing that ever happened to her. 
6.      Do drugs.  Just kidding.  Hugs not drugs. 
7.      Trash my house!  With thrown food and beverages. And toys.  And books.  And socks. 
8.      Over-exercise.  Triceps extension: lifting Booberry onto the slide. Squat: pick her up.  REPEAT ONE MILLION TIMES.  Cardio: wet swiffering my kitchen once every other day to help break up some of the crusted-on oatmeal.
9.      Go to parties:  I go to so many parties, you guys.  I went to two last weekend!  TWO! ON THE SAME DAY!  They were one year old bday parties.  Oh…does that not count?  Fine.  I can go to your adults-only party.  But I need to know about it a month or two in advance so I can lock down the in-laws to babysit.  If the in laws aren’t free, fine, I’ll just get a sitter.  But I’m only staying at your party until 10 pm because it’s not worth $15 dollars an hour for me to get drunk in your basement when it only costs me $15 over the course of three days to get drunk in mine off that one bottle of wine.   And I’m tired and have to get up at 6:30 no matter what day of the week it is. 
10.  Arrive places fashionably late because of oversleeping.  Booberry’s oversleeping , that is. 

I mean, do I really care about being cool anymore? NO.  But do I sometimes wake up on a Saturday and wish that slight headache and queasy feeling was due to hangover and not just being awoken from deep sleep by “DADA?!” echoing through the baby monitor?  I mean…no?  Did I even care before about packing my social calendar?  Not really. So what’s the deal?  Our lives are different but we are still the same people.  Aren’t we?  A year in (two, if you count the DD preggo months), sometimes it’s still surprising when the Doctor and I turn to each other and exclaim, “WHAT?!  A baby lives here?!”    Then she staggers drunkenly over to us, plants a wet kiss on each of our faces, and shakes her booty to the music.  And we party on.

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