Parents gone wild

When Enzo was about four months old, I celebrated my 10 year college reunion with a night out. I was panicked about pumping breastmilk and calling in to check on Enzo constantly. So, it wasn't exactly the night out I had planned. Now that I'm a pro at parenting (read, "now that I sort of know what I'm doing as a new parent and that not pumping for 6 hours will not dry me up forever - I mean, I haven't had a few glasses of wine in a year and a half!"), Jeff and I hit Newport Beach Christmas Boat Parade with our good friends. Parents gone wild.

It started off with a parking garage standoff with a real housewife of the OC, in her convertible VW and a toddler in the backseat. She totally creeped in front of us, as we waited for the valet. If it hadn't been for her illegally talking on her cellphone, her knowingly cutting us off and pretending not to see us, and the fact that our boat was scheduled to leave in exactly 5 minutes, the notion of "the first shall be last and the last shall be first" would have probably won out. Not this time. After several nonverbals about us being in front of her, waiting there for at least 10 minutes before she even rolled up, I asked her to roll down her window. I calmly say, "you are being a terrible example of waiting your turn to your child in the backseat." She poutedly gruffs, "fine! go ahead!! geeez!" Awesome.

We ran to the boat, only to find about half of our friends there. The others rolled up about 30 minutes later. We should have known. Anyway, we really didn't care because we immediately started the party there on the docked boat. Gourmet cheese, chocolate, nuts and wine. I partook. Jeff and I both did. It has been a while. A long while.

Screaming at passing boats, waving to Santa, scoring the decorated homes on the shore, and boogying down to some hip hop tunes (not Yo Gabba Gabba or Baby Einstein) was more fun that we could have hoped for. We topped it off with a nice meal at an Italian restaurant (it was nice before the owner bought us a round of shots.)

And there were cops involved at Parents' Night Out. On the way home, we had to stop at the gas station for a pitstop, so Jeff rolls up into the handicapped spot and I run out to make a deposit. A cop at the gas station yells at me to stop. Oh my gosh. I felt like I was doing something terribly wrong. I am allowed to have a few drinks as a parent, right? "Do you have a handicapped placard?," he says. And I gesture to the red placard juditiously hung in the window by Jeff. Thank God for my two previous broken ankles and my awesome orthopedic surgeon's nurse, who is quite generous with the handicrapper placards.

So, it was a fantastic night. I got home, pumped and dumped. Enzo is too young for merlot.