W is for Wine...Red Wine, that is...

Now that I'm all but finished my breastfeeding experience (the little monster learned how to use his two shiny new front teeth - and I was done), I've rediscovered the beauty of red wine. There were many things during pregnancy that I could have done without...one of which was the necessity of abstaining from red wine. I only discovered that I enjoyed it a mere two months before I found out I was pregnant...In fact, red wine is possibly the very reason why I became pregnant in the first place. But all that aside, I must admit that I am enjoying being able to enjoy a glass (or a bottle) of my favourite indulgence once more.

I'm not a drinker. Although I usually enjoy drinking under the right circumstances, I have been known to have the most horrific hangovers of all time. My closest girlfriends know best how absolutely essential it is that I have gravol and gatorade on hand if we're about to have a night out. Give me gravol the night before or give me death the morning after. Seriously.

It's been awhile since I've been able to imbibe in the presence of my closest friends. The last time I tried to drink was before Christmas of 2007...at the yearly Festivus celebrations, to be exact...I arrived at the party with every intention of getting absolutely blasted with my best friends...imagine my surprise when, after one and a half glasses of (you guessed it) red wine, I almost threw up all over the buffet. I suppose that was the first sign of many which culminated in my taking a pregnancy test five days later, on boxing day. I ended up being the DD that night.

Now that I have the result of that pregnancy test residing in living colour in my living room, my opportunities for nights out with the girls seem limited at best, and an absolute impossibility at worst. No one ever tells you about the realities of mommyhood. That you will feel the inevitable tug of pre-mommy freedom calling your name, tempting you to do what you used to....followed by the inevitable guilt and restrictions that caring for a small being places upon you. It's times like these that I wished I lived back home where grandma and grandpa (times two) are available to babysit if said pre-mommy urges hit me unexpectedly.

Unfortunately, I do not live back home. I live 7 hours away from home. Besides, we're not in high school anymore. It's just not the same...the best times with girlfriends are had at Christmas parties and on New Years Eve, not at the bar every weekend. I suppose I'm lamenting the loss of some foreign excursions from years gone by....I guess I'll just have to settle for next year's Festivus...but what I wouldn't give for one more Wednesday night of Karaoke with my closest girlfriends...ahhhhhhh, the freedom.

NOT.