My Girls' Night In
Forget Girls' Night Out. Now I'm all about the Girls' Night In
Last Saturday, I got a phone call from a girlfriend about a girls’ night out. The call came in the middle of me cleaning smashed pear off both my legs and the legs of the high chair while my 11-month-old daughter teetered around eating sweet potato puffs behind me. My group of girlfriends had decided we were due for a get together, and they were all in. It would be a night, they had decided, of drinks and dining at one of our favorite spots, followed by more drinks at another favorite spot, followed by possible late night booty shaking and anything else that would entail quality, female bonding. My ears had been perked up like a Great Dane the entire time she was talking. I started to feel manic at the prospect. She didn’t need to say more. She had me at GIRLS NIGHT OUT.
I was in. Hell, yes. After a long day at work and a rough week with a grouchy, teething baby, this was just what mama needed. I hadn’t been out for a “grown up” night with the girls in months. We continued to flesh out the details and planned to meet up a few hours from then.
I hung up the phone, ate a piece of smashed pear from under my nail, grabbed my daughter and headed upstairs to my bedroom. I collapsed on my bed and sat my babbling daughter in my armpit nook. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head of all the stressful things that happened at work earlier in the day. My feet ached, my head hurt, and I felt exhausted.
And then, I felt a slobbery little mouth on my forehead. Blowing slobbery bubbles on my furrowed brow. Giving a slobbery baby version of a love-filled kiss to her mom, who was seriously in need of recharging. Her mom whom she had not seen ALL DAY.
I opened my eyes and looked up at my little cub. Those big eyes were staring right back at me. A big smile came over her sweet little innocent face. She squealed with delight at the sight of my eyes and was ready to play. And I couldn’t help but melt. At that moment, her little face lit up my whole world. Suddenly, the tension in my neck wasn’t bothering me, and the worries of the day were far, far away. I sat up, swept the little peanut up into my arms and attacked her with kisses.
And then I made a phone call to my girlfriend. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said to a shocked silence on the other end. “I’m hanging in. I’m having a girls night in tonight.”
I got into my favorite old sweatshirt and my favorite comfy sweats, and we started our night.
My girlfriends may have been eating sushi at a trendy Hollywood restaurant, but we happily dined on boiled carrots, cubes of cheese and applesauce in the comfort of our kitchen. And because of the company I was keeping, even the freshest of yellowtail could never taste as good.
After dinner, we had our own dance party to a playlist of Beyoncé songs, but mostly to “Single Ladies” on repeat. We danced until we shut our own dance club down, and then we had a nightcap at our makeshift bedroom café. We both had lattes. One had caffeine and the other, four scoops of Enfamil. We read book after book and communicated with giggles. And at around 8 PM, we snuggled up together in my bed and passed out.
I’m sure my girlfriends had a rip-roaring time and partied well into the morning. But I’m positive that it couldn’t even compete with my girls’ night in with my little boo.
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