Let me start by saying, I was pretty cool before parenthood. I owned pants with actual buttons, stayed up later than 9 p.m., and it took more than two cocktails to put me on my butt. I even washed my hair before leaving the house. Sometimes, I straightened it.
But two kids and four years later, things have changed. Friday nights no longer look like sushi and hanky panky. More like Stouffer’s and Handy Manny.
I’m not complaining. I love this Netflix, messy-bun life. Bedtime at 9? Yes, please. But trust me when I say, it hasn’t always been this way.
Every mother on the planet knows what it’s like to long for the days of little black dresses and cocktails. It’s not an easy transition to make, going from social butterfly to homebound hermit. But let me assure you: Acceptance will come. You, too, will find yourself loafing on the couch at 7 p.m. on a Saturday night, wearing no bra and a eating bowl of cereal.
Yes, you will.
But first, you must journey through the five stages of grief (as applied to your social life). I’ve been there. Lemme walk you through it.
Stage One: Denial
There will come a day in your new mom life when you are sitting on the couch in your pajamas, watching Dance Moms and smelling like sour milk spit-up. That’s when your friend will call. “Hey, wanna go to Pedro’s tonight? It’s Taco Tuesday — hooray!”
You’ll think about sleep, and how you love it so very much. And you’ll think about the fact that Taco Tuesday would require a babysitter and a shower. Then you’ll daydream about how awesome it would be to hire a babysitter, skip the shower, and just sleep. You’ll yawn, decide to decline and say these words: “Maybe next time.”
And ha ha ha, you’ll actually believe it. That’s what we call denial: Stage One.
Stage Two: Anger
Same couch, one week later. Your friend calls, and it occurs to you that, holy crap, you are in the same pajamas watching the same show, pumping the same boob you were when she called last time. You’ll think about sleep, babysitters, showers, and all the obstacles between you and those cheesy chicken tacos, and a flicker of rage will ignite in your soul. Cereal and Dance Moms instead of Taco Tuesday and beer? How has your life come to this?
You will look at that bouncy baby, whom you love so very much, and a wave of pissyness will overcome you. Taco Tuesday isn’t gonna happen, girlfriend. Stage Two is unlocked. Welcome to anger.
Stage Three: Bargaining
You: Why is this happening to me? I miss my social life. What could I have done differently?
Universe: You wanted to be a mom, remember?
You: Okay, fine, you win Universe.
Stage Four: Depression
You are never going to Taco Tuesday again. Pretty sure your friends hate you. Date nights are dead. The world is a terrible, boring place. Everyone is sad.
Stage Five: Acceptance
Welcome to the other side! This is where you realize that bingeing on Netflix is way more satisfying than an overpriced movie night anyway. Oh, and did you know that Pedro’s delivers tacos? Yah, that. You don’t even have to put on a bra!
You no longer grieve your social life because look at those babies. Yeah, you make freaking awesome babies. Totally worth it. And who has time to feel sorry for themselves anyway?
Not you. Not today. Mourning is over.
Grab a seat on the couch, Mama. Revel in the fact that the kids are in bed, and you have nowhere to be. Pour yourself a glass of wine and relax.
After all, there are 153 episodes of Gilmore Girls to watch and hot tacos just knocked on the door. #momlife