I was really looking forward to New Years this year. After twenty saintly months of pregnancy and nursing, I was ready to let loose and down some serious champagne! So I made plans to go away to a fabulous hotel with my family and dance the night away.
Now I realize I was insane. What would I do with my kid? Who would watch her while I downed glasses of bubbly till midnight? A babysitter? Ha! What person in their right mind is going to stay in on New Years to watch my kid? No one! Even if I could find someone do it, I’d have to pay them so much moolah I wouldn’t be able to afford the cab fare to the restaurant. So I pouted for a few days and then cancelled my plans. But I comforted myself with the knowledge that it’s all temporary. Like diapers and spit up, this too shall pass…
And then suddenly it dawned on me. This is how it is going to be for the next 15 years. I’m never, ever going to be able to go out on New Years again! I’ll be almost fifty years old by the time I’ll be out on the town to ring in the New Year. Fifty! I’ll have to wait until my kid is old enough to be out on the town herself, at which point it’ll probably be more appropriate for me to spend the holiday in front of the TV watching the ball drop with Dick Clark (if he’s even around by then.) So I guess I better go return that little black dress I bought and invest in a pair of Juicy bottoms ‘cause I’m kidding myself if I think I’m going anywhere but.