Last night I sent the following tweet:

The picture is of a delicious Blue Moon complete with orange slice. And nowhere near that beer was a baby. In fact, there were ZERO babies in the whole bar. Instead, five other mamas and I ate nachos and onion straws and buffalo wings and chips and spinach artichoke dip and did I mention the BEER? And the mojitos? And the margarita? It was a momentous occasion. (Actual conversation as I was leaving – Me: “This was AMAZING!” Amy: “You should blog about it.” Me: “OH I TOTALLY WILL.”) It may have only lasted an hour and a half and I may have left early because E had to go back into work but that didn’t stop me from wearing a REAL BRA AND DANGLY EARRINGS. Do you know how long it’s been since I could wear dangly earrings without worrying about having my earlobe torn in two by sticky, grabby, baby hands? I’m only sad I didn’t stay long enough to order a giant chocolate dessert and eat it all by myself.

It’s just so amazing to have girlfriends. Women friends. Mom friends who understand what it’s like to never sleep through the night and talk about poop without wincing and break out their phones to show off baby photos faster than you can say “stretch marks”. I actually feel sort of sorry for E because although he gets to go to work every day and spend baby-free time with grown ups he can’t be having nearly as much fun as I had in that 90 minutes last night. I need to work on getting some of these moms together as couples so maybe he can meet some dad friends. Although I doubt they’ll talk about poop quite as much.

Since I already had knitting group on Wednesday night this was actually the second time in a week I left E to deal with bedtime. It’s a good time of day to put him in charge since E’s always done bathtime, pajamas and rocked Baby Evan to sleep. The only thing I miss is the last bedtime feeding, which Baby Evan usually makes up for around midnight. E doesn’t seem to mind being left alone since he can play all the computer games he wants without a wife looking over his shoulder or trying to talk about her day or her feelings or some other crap like that. The next step will be hiring someone to come over at 7 pm and sit on our couch to watch TV while Baby Evan sleeps and BOTH of us get to go to a bar. It’s taken almost 10 months but I finally feel ready. Amen.

So besides E and Baby Evan and I, three other family members live in our house.

First is the oft-photographed Brutus, the world’s most patient dog. E and I adopted him in Ohio in December 2006. He’s part lab, part German Shepperd, part mutt. His favorite activities include sitting on furniture, shedding, eating baby spit up, belly rubs, and tricking unsuspecting house guests into taking him for walks.

Patient dog is patient with Babyzilla

I’ve also posted pictures of Blushes, my cat since college. I adopted her in October of 2002. Blushes was supposed to be named Lady Katrina Von Mousington, but the ladies at the animal shelter in South Carolina asked me to keep they name they had given her. Her favorite activities include torturing the dog, sneaking into laps, shedding, throwing up in unfortunate places, “escaping” from the house only to discover outside is too cold and scary, eating people food and letting the baby lie on her.

Babyzilla stalks another unsuspecting victim

And finally, meet Rabbit (named as such because she’s jumpy). E and I thought Blushes would be happier with a friend (she originally had a brother but he belonged to my ex). We adopted Rabbit in 2004 while living in a tiny apartment in Virginia Beach. We thought she loved petting and cuddles but it turns out she was just so PARALYZED WITH FEAR she couldn’t run away. In reality, she’s evil. Possibly possessed. And she hates E with the burning fire of a thousand super novas. Since we brought the baby home she barely ventures downstairs any more and spends 99% of her time sleeping on the guest bed. Her favorite activities include peeing on E’s pillow, catching and torturing mice by chewing off their feet, eating rubber bands, drinking from the toilet, sleeping, shedding and plotting our deaths.

Welcome to your DOOM.

So if you ever come to the house, please excuse the pet hair.

I think the reason babies are born helpless and wordless and unable to sass back is to give new parents a chance to practice their patience before they’re required to actually PARENT. When you come home with an infant you quickly learn important baby-care skills such as how to get dressed while holding a baby in one arm, reading lips on tv because the baby is sleeping and you don’t want to risk turning up the volume, and taking 30 second showers. But Baby Bootcamp lasts only a few months and doesn’t include what to do when your child steals a toy from someone else’s child and then smacks them in the head with it. And then laughs. That requires discipline, something I am definitely still learning.

Yesterday at play group Baby Evan had a pushing incident with one of his friends. Shockingly, he was the victim instead of the aggressor but it’s only a matter of time before Babyzilla attacks become an international concern.

(Recreation of said incident:)

I’m very lucky that watching the moms I know with their kids is like taking a master class in patient parenting. They say stuff like “let’s make a good decision” and “what do you think will be the consequences of your actions?” and “put your eyes on my eyes while I’m talking to you”. I was secretly laughing at that kind of talk – does a 2 year old really understand consequences? – until the 2 year old understood the consequences. And another kid shared all her toys nicely. And no one screamed when Baby Evan stole their sippy cup (because my child is the worst behaved one) (mostly because he’s only 9 months old) (we’re working on it).

I’m hoping both the good parenting and the good behavior will start to rub off on us. Nobody wants to be the pariah of the playgroup or have a kid who doesn’t get invited to birthday parties. Because those kids grow up to be assholes. And then everybody blames their mothers.

I don’t talk much about E’s job* here, for a couple of reasons. First of all, I don’t want to get him in trouble by running my mouth and accidentally giving away something that could compromise national security. (Do I really know anything that important? I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.) (Sorry, military joke.) Secondly, his job’s not really a big part of our lives right now. Well, not a bigger part of our lives than a normal civilian’s job is – you go there in the morning, you sit at a desk, you go to boring meetings, you come home for dinner, rinse, repeat. The fact that he wears a uniform and answers to people named Lieutenant and Admiral doesn’t matter so much while he’s on shore duty instead of attached to a submarine.

But in a few weeks our contented life of Daddy being home to tuck the baby in at night may change. Last fall, E applied to be a Limited Duty Officer – which is a great career decision for a lot of reasons – and we find out the results in February.  If he’s picked up it would mean a move followed by at least one deployment, probably on an aircraft carrier (Our friend who was picked up and commissioned this past spring is currently on the Carl Vinson helping with the relief effort in Haiti)…followed by several more moves and probably more deployments.  I wouldn’t be the first woman to become a single mother** because of the Navy but it’s certainly not something I’m looking forward to with all the joy and excitement of Christmas morning.

The whole situation is one big question mark until after we hear the LDO results but it’s all I can think about. There are a ton of if’s going on right now and I hate ifs. IF E gets picked up. IF he gets the job path he’s hoping for. IF they transfer us. IF we have to sell the house. IF we can’t sell the house because of the stupid housing market. IF we get to choose where we want to go. IF he’s going to be at sea for 6 months. IF we plan to expand our family again in the next two years. IF IF IF IF.

All I know for sure is IF we have to leave Connecticut I’m going to be more upset than I’ve ever been about a move before. It’s so nice to know how to get to the mall and the doctor’s office and the post office and the other post office that actually has parking and to know which mechanic won’t rip me off and where to get a bridesmaid’s dress fitted and where to buy fresh pasta and who makes the best local wine. Learning all those things in a new place is exhausting, even more so now that I also need to know all the baby related stuff too – pediatricians and 24-hour pharmacies and playgrounds and restaurants where no one complains about a few coasters thrown on the floor and maybe a screaming fit or two. I like it here, New England weather and all and will be very sad to leave.

*E’s job: He’s a Chief Petty Officer (E-7) who runs nuclear reactors on fast-attack submarines. Currently working at Electric Boat to help coordinate construction and repair work between the shipyard and the Navy.

**I hate using the term single mother because having a husband who’s away at sea is in NO WAY like being an actual single mother. I can stay home without working and still pay my bills – not to mention the health insurance benefits. But I can’t think of a better term right now. Suggestions welcome.

Check it out Mamas, my baby’s walking at 9 months, 1 week and 6 days!

Don’t be jealous. No really, don’t be. All this means is I never get to sit down ever again.