Thursday night we dropped Archer off at my parent's house and spent our first solo weekend together since the summer of '69. Or 2004. Whatever. It had been a very looooong time since the two of us were alone on an airplane trying to figure out how the hell people manage to have sex in airplane bathrooms when its hard enough to pee in one of those things, etc.
So when the opportunity presented itself-- a friend's wedding in
Minneapolis-- we figured the time had come for the two of us to revisit
our single days of partner-in-crimeship and petty airplane banter.
Ahem...
"I think people are liars. It would be impossible to get any leverage in a lavatory."
"When I was little I called it a laboratory."
"Why don't airplanes feed you anything anymore?"
"I hate when people put their seats all the way down so you have no room. It's so rude."
I've been lucky enough to travel with friends and/or alone several times since Archer was born, but never with Hal. We haven't so much as honeymooned together so the idea of a two night stay in Minneapolis was just as exciting as a month in Jamaica for most normal people.
Here we are, the one and a half of us because I have shitty aim with self portraits, especially after five vodka tonics two of us. In our hotel room. For the first time. Without our child. Five minutes before we...
...Ordered room service. Oh yeah.
We also spent both nights at Nye's, a fantastic bar and even better Polka spot. Who knew Polka would be my favorite outdoor activity? But I digress. This is a parenting blog and I am a parent who has frightening epiphanies on crowded elevators, surrounded by strangers and especially strangers with children.
Whenever I leave Archer, and especially on a weekend voyage or out-of-town excursion I find myself unusually friendly with people who have kids.
"How old is he"? I'll say.
Or: "Yeah, I know how it is. I have one of those at home."
It's the lamest thing ever and I can't fucking stop. Seriously. I don't even know I'm doing it until it's too late, until I'm peering over a newborn, waving baby's rattle, flapping my face about Archer and vaginal birth being horrifying and the first six-weeks being "hell on wheels" and how "it's sooo nice when they're little and you can take them places and they just lie there and behave."
Not that I didn't enjoy my vacation. I, in usual "me" fashion, was NOT ready to come home, dragging my feet on the airplane and pouting around the house all night, pulling on Hal's leg, begging him to take me away. Again. To a new land. Another vacation. More polka!
But, seriously. What is it about us people? Why must we wink at new babies and then go on to offer personal information knowing right well the people don't care?
I don't want to be that girl. Trust me. Just like I'm sure Hal doesn't want to be that guy but he's just as bad as I am for chrissakes! Going on and on about "his son" and how he's "two and a quarter years old" and how he "does this thing when he comes home from work and..."
What gives, man? What the hell is wrong with us. What the hell is wrong with YOU! Because I KNOW you do the exact same thing when you leave your kids behind for a romantic polka wedding weekend: you talk about your kid all. damn. day. Even with strangers on the elevator of the Walker Art Center.
But why? And how can we make ourselves stop this madness?
Help!
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