Some of our young friends got married this weekend, and we survived the festivities alright. "Survive" might be the best verb to describe such an eventful weekend, a weekend that required me leaving the baby FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. Poor little latch-key infant... he had more face-to-face time with a plastic nipple this weekend than with his momma. Dan gave him a bottle while I was at the wedding rehearsal on Saturday, and Judy served up a whopping 4 bottles while we were at the reception on Sunday. By Monday Harvey was practically done with me. When Judy came in the morning Harvey gave me this look like, "Guess what mom? The fun lady? She serves milk now. Seeeee ya."
I almost didn't make it to the wedding reception due to extreme not-feeling-like-it-ness. I went home after the service to feed the baby and feed and walk the dog, and while I was there I started to fantasize about washing off my makeup and taking the baby up to bed. I mean, the reception was a whole 30 minutes away, and the drinks were 4.50 a pop. And by that point they were already married, so why bother sullying more nursing pads?
But I did end up going, and it was nice despite the cash bar and the engorgement. And Harvey did marvelously well with Grandma. A little too marvelously well, if you ask me. Let's just say I'm not going anywhere for a while.