Social Life Nostalgia

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At 23 weeks I have reached the state in which dropped objects don't fall directly on the floor, but hit my stomach first. This is becoming increasingly inconvenient especially because most of the objects I am talking about are food items, or toothpaste, or hair product, or similar things that leave stains on my shirt. If they fell directly on the floor, I could just pretend I haven't seen anything, or smear them with my foot to make them disappear, or worst case scenario grab one of the baby wipes that are everywhere thanks to owning a toddler (unless the toddler had a major messy poop, in which case you suddenly can't find any). But now I acquire new stains on my shirts every day. This is a problem, because I have a very limited supply of shirts that fit. I mean, maternity clothes are not exactly a smart investment unless you are Michelle Duggar. Which, considering I am thinking of buying Peter a vasectomy as a gift for his upcoming birthday, I am clearly not.

The same belly got in the way last Sunday. Last Sunday was the night of Oscars. I was attending a fabulous party at my friend's house and wanted to wear a black gown I bought some time ago in White House Black Market (a place I like to call heaven). I thought the cut of the dress will be permissive enough even at this stage of pregnancy. I managed to zip it up. But just because you can zip it up doesn't mean you should wear it. After initial disappointment I put together an outfit I was happy with, and headed over to the party. This is how things work around here - in order for women to be able to watch Oscars in style, all the men and kids met in our house, while all the women headed to my friend's house. It was a good arrangement. 

But it made me realize I miss hanging out with boys. Let me rephrase - I miss hanging out with both girls and boys at the same time. We take turns. We have girls movie nights and occasional Dancing With The Stars audience attendances, and boys have their surfing sessions and occasional Menboree events. They watch the kids for us and we watch the kids for them. But we don't have a designated babysitter who would watch all the kids, so both men and women could go out together. I miss it. I would love to go out with the whole group and drink and dance all night long (OK, I know at the moment there are other reasons for which this is complicated, but still). 

It's a well known fact that your social life suffers after baby comes on board. You also know to expect it, but you don't really understand until you're there. I have read an article that for mothers, social life improves after baby's birth. I would like to respectfully disagree. The article goes on to say that mothers create new social circles that are kid-centered, for example when going to the playground. That is not a social life. That is a social misery. When I take Kai to the park, I usually feel like Kate Winslet's character in Little Children. I live the diapers and feeding and colic and tantrums every minute of every day - the last thing I want to do is to chat about the same stuff over and over again with every mother at the playground. I can still talk about books and movies and environmental issues and the latest in fashion and travel and all those things I talked about before kids!

Just because I gave birth did not make me stop wanting to go to the movies, or dancing, or shopping or go see a hockey game (I know there's no hockey in Central Coast California...but similarly to having kids, moving to California does not mean you stop liking hockey games!). I am not saying I would want my life to be different. I am incredibly happy with the way things are. I got the years of partying and I got the years of romantic dates and now I have the years of watching this little miracle grow up in front of me. But yes - I miss the spontaneity of getting up from the couch and saying "let's go out for a drink. Let's call Anne Marie and Ryan and Eric and Colleen and bunch of other people and let's go." In that regard, things will never be the same again and the nostalgia is justified.