We went to my wife’s work holiday party on the weekend. My mom babysat. The dinner was amazing, and it was nice to get dressed up for a change. But by 9:30, I was ready to go home and cuddle in bed watching Netflix. When the music started for the dance, I could no longer hear any of the conversations going on around me. I sat there like a lump on a log, watching the time tick by, dreaming of my comfy bed, and trying not to dwell on what time I’d be woken up in the morning, or how many times I’d be needed through the night. By 10:30 I was grumpy. Our ride was being chivalrous and not pressuring his other “fares” to wrap it up for the night. My wife sat with me but didn’t want to say anything to our ride, and didn’t want to offend him by calling a cab.
So there we sat, watching people dance, looking like the grumpy, party pooper uncles at a wedding.
Finally, by 11:45, we got our lift home. I hate being such a party scrooge, but I really just love quiet, intimate events that end before my bedtime. Am I a 90 year old trapped in a 32 year old’s body? Maybe.
On the plus side, Avery only woke once in the night, and slept in until EIGHT FUCKING THIRTY. She has never slept that late. Thank you, wonderful child.