I, the Halloweenie

It recently came to my attention that I have not been out on the town without my newborn sidekick stuck to my boob since his arrival in our lives. That's 3 months of solid parenting, people. It's enough to make Angie and Brad insane, okay? And they probably have 16 24-hour nannies, that which I do not have. So, after swiftly smacking myself across my face, I set out to engage in social activities again and to support the local economy in the best way that I know how (aka indulging in alcoholic beverages) and possibly revisiting my favorite old pasttime of getting so hammered I lose my purse, exhibit here and here.

Halloween was one of my first experiences with intoxication. We planned ahead and brought two major friends with us to Stacey and Alyssa's party. These friends must accompany me everywhere I go now if I plan on having a good time. They are Mr. Breastpump and his frosty sidekick, Mrs. Frozen Breastmilk. How hot am I walking into the party with my Medela Pump & Style backpack? Single men, beware! She's a minx!

Anyway, I have been looking forward to Halloween, oh since about a year ago when the mother of all Halloween partiers, Stacy Marie Hall, deflected from Chicago's party scene to grace NYC with her presence. She's kind of a big deal. She's been planning this bash for months and I have been making costumes and collecting party treats for almost that long. To say I was on a little high on my way to the party with Griffin dressed as the most ridiculously cute and adorable Harry Potter, Grant as Ron Weasley, and myself as Hermione is the understatement of the year. I very nearly passed out from sheer euphoria when we entered the party and showed off my homemade costumes to the group. Taking my first jell-o shot almost did me in as well, and the first few hours of Halloween mayhem flew by.

Griffin was having a tremendous time with Sarah Palin and the drinks were flowing. Guests came and came in droves and the fun multiplied with every drink and shot. The little guy petered out round about 8 o'clock and we put him to bed in Stacey's ultra-comfy down bed. Now the real partying could begin.

Only. Hold on. Something's happening.

After my 4th drink I could not for the life of me keep both of my eyelids open at the same time. And I should have been a f-ing Jack-o-lantern for as many times as I was yawning in a row. It was utterly embarrassing. I scrambled around for whatever caffeine and water I could inhale as quickly as possible while the inevitable loomed before me. Not too long later I was snuggled up to Grif, passed out cold for the next 2 hours in Stace's bed. I tried to deny it when the occasional person peeped in to check on us by prying my eyelids open for a brief second, but I was comatose. Party Animal.

In conclusion, I am the Halloweenie Mom I swore I would never be. I never thought I'd see the day when I preferred changing poopy diapers to throwing back several cold ones. The sky has fallen, Chicken Little, but I cannot complain. I have the most amazing little buzzkill you ever did see as my constant playmate. (My apologies if you just threw up in your mouth, single friends, it happens).