Party's Over

The first time I was pregnant, I was all in love with the whole experience. Every single thing about it was neato to me. Even the parts that I had to give up and/or change. I was parting with my party-party lifestyle to grow my little precious angel in my belly and I didn’t mind one bit. In fact, I had a bit of a romance going on with the whole experience.

I actually found it fun to still go out to the odd party or the pub and I thought it was neat to order O’Douls or a Cran with a splash of soda garnished with a lime, or the odd virgin margarita. I would sit through all the beers and booze talk and I would laugh along with my husband and friends at their antics and it was fun. And then I would be the designated driver and even that was kinda fun. I always kinda hoped I’d get pulled over by the cops or stuck in a roadblock so that I could proudly show off the boozers in my vehicle and see the cop’s realization of his error when he saw my belly. (I never did get to experience that one).

Sure I wasn’t up for staying out all night – even though Steve would have liked to a couple of times (I adjusted before he did, naturally), but I was out late quite a few times.

The whole thing was fun for me. I liked having the special reason for not drinking, or eating the pizza with lunch meats and feta cheese on it or the rare steak with the blue cheese crust.


Then I got pregnant again. Nine months after giving birth. And things have changed. Let me tell you, the romance is dead.

I’m going to admit it right here and now, O’Douls and any other “near beer” is vile and disgusting. You couldn’t pay me to consume that crap and then endure the gastrointestinal havoc that it imposes for hours afterwards. Why I would drink that shit if it’s not giving me a buzz is beyond me.

And sitting around and watching you jerks drink your cocktails and get buzzed and talk nonsense while I sit and sip my water (because I don’t want to gain a bunch of unnecessary weight so ginger ale and the fancy virgin drinks are out of the question this time around) has somehow lost its luster. In fact, it’s actually quite annoying. Sitting through your "hilarious" story once in the evening is plenty for me, hearing it three or four times? Makes me want to cut off my ears and shove them in your mouth.

And you want me to be upbeat and fun and funny? When I’m feeling tired and achy and worn out from carrying around my belly all day while running around after a toddler? Get bent.

You'd like ME to drive you piss tanks home afterwards??? And listen to your annoying conversations while your stinking booze breath saturates my car, making me want to gag? Get a cab.

The party doesn’t start until what time? Which means I will be up past 9pm??? Oh get real! Do you mind if I nap on your couch for a couple of hours then? Or would that be a buzz kill for the rest of you? Because I still have to get up with a toddler at 6:30am while all you assholes will be sleeping off your hangovers.

Oh! And I need to arrange a babysitter to look after my kid so I can go out and watch people have fun and get on my nerves and eat food I can’t eat and drink drinks I can’t drink and exhaust myself so that I suffer for the entire following week???

Why don’t I just stay home tonight, where it’s acceptable to be in my pyjamas with the stretchy waist band by 6pm and I’ll lay on the couch watching Sopranos reruns until I fall asleep at 8:30pm and nobody will look at me like I’m a wet blanket and a total buzz kill.

We can revisit this issue sometime after June, but until then please understand if I have “other plans” and can’t make it out tonight.

*Disclaimer: This doesn't mean that you are off the hook for inviting me to all the fun outings and events - oh I still fully expect to still recieve any and all invitations to such things to prevent me from feeling out of the loop or unwanted or not cool or fun anymore (even if I'm not). My feelings get hurt very easily now that I'm pregnant and you don't want to be responsible for making a pregnant woman cry, do you???