I went out to dinner with my girlfriends last night. This is a ritual that takes place the fourth Wednesday of every month. I am not sure how long this has been going on, but I've been going for a couple of years now. It's called "Hon Night" after the infamous Baltimore Hon. I don't think any of us could actually be considered Hons, but it's the sentiment that counts. Whoever has a birthday that month gets to pick the restaurant. There are a core group of women that typically show with a larger group that rotate in and out based on their availability. Interestingly, of the core group of about ten, five of us had babies within three months of each other.
Every time, I tell myself that this time I will not spend the whole time talking about my daughter and each time I spend the majority of my time talking about my daughter. I think I am a reasonably intelligent person. I follow world and national events. I have a degree in economics, which should be good for something in these times. I have traveled to more than a dozen countries and have seen a good chunk of my own country. I love movies and actually see quite a few, although I make it to the theater less often these days than would be my ideal. Netflix is a new mother's friend. I am an avid reader covering everything from the classics to modern pop literature. I'm currently working my way through the Twilight series (which depending on who you talk to falls into both of those categories), but I am taking a break to read Moose, A Memoir of Fat Camp. I have a passing knowledge of three languages. I have been a rock star bartender and a corporate marketing honcho.
And yet, despite all of this, I found myself uttering the phrase "color in equals color out" in reference to the contents of my daughter's diaper. Last night. At the table. At a restaurant.
What happened to the interesting version of me?