A few months ago, I slept over my best friend’s house. She was almost nine months preggo and I wanted to squeeze in some extra bonding time before Baby Touchdown. This wasn’t some sweet idea I came up with all by myself but a result of my natural competitiveness. I was reading FB one night and saw my BFF’s OTHER BFF posted about how she’d slept over for bonding time and I thought, “Shit. I can’t let her get the upper hand. Not when there is a race for godmother about to begin.” Plus, I wanted a night off from the Torture-Mommy-By-Staying-Up-All-Night game my kids enjoy so much.
On my way over to my friend’s house on the subway, I realized something kind of pathetic This would be my first night away from the kids AND away from my husband. Ever. In six and a half years.
I get away from the kids for weekend or overnight trips with David plenty and usually, that’s how I want it, because we desperately need the time together, time without a deranged munchkin shouting demands and talking over us, with urgent, incessant observations about Harry Potter video game or Little Mermaid Two. I love getting away with David. But occasionally, I need to get away from him, too. And heretofore, I’d never done that. (Are you impressed by my casual use of “heretofore”? Whatevs, no big deal. That’s just how I roll, people).
The sleepover was a success. Since she was nine months preggo, we didn’t have to party hard or stay out late which, lets face facts, is the last thing I want to do. Her pregnancy made her as infirm as my default and routine exhaustion makes me, and we sat on her couch and watched a Real Housewives marathon while eating French pastry treats I’d brought from the Slope. Then, to mix it up a bit, we watched What Not to Wear. Then we got in bed and I told her scary stories in the form of “Here’s what is going to fall out of you after you have your baby” and “Here’s what you need to apply to your vag after you have your baby” and “Here’s what is going to happen to your nips after you have your baby.” Once I’d scared her enough that she couldn’t sleep, it was time to turn in. A perfect evening of sorority.
A few weeks later, I was out for drinks with my two tight Mommy friends and I told them about how I’d had a sleepover with my pregnant friend.
“What?” said the first, “We want to have a sleepover too.”
“Yeah,” said the second, and then upping the ante “Better yet, let’s go away. For the weekend. Girls’ getaway.”
Competitions never fails to get shit done. After months of planning, we did it. Left the men with the kids and took off for greener pastures, and lower temperatures. An international voyage!
It wasn’t quite Abu Dabi and we weren’t quite the Sex and the City gang but hey, Canada is a different country with colorful money that has ladies on it and besides, our trip, though it featured way fewer straight-from-the-runway looks, also featured way fewer aggravating puns. Not once did we use the word “Interfrention” for example.
Full report later. Right now, I have to post on FB about the getaway to get my other friends jealous so they’ll want to hang out with me more. Try it, I am telling you, it works.
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