This is 30

A friend of mine just posted on her Facebook about her day with her kids, how she was going to watch some tv and then go to bed early. Yup, sounds pretty much like my day. In fact, when she posted that, I was doing my final check of Facebook for the night and debating whether I was going to go to bed or read a little bit of my book and then go to bed. It’s 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday night.


My friend summed it up best, "This is 30."


Gone are the days of Saturday night primping and pre-gaming at 8:30 p.m. Because the only reason I'd be leaving the house to go out at 10 p.m. is if there was a medical emergency and I was headed to an ER with my kid (KNOCK ON WOOD!!!!)


It really wasn't that long ago that I would just now be getting ready to figure out the night's plan. It usually involved a lot of booze, music and crazy girl antics. Nowadays I barely have the energy to make it to the fridge for wine. The thought of hard liquor turns my stomach.


I'm pretty sure if I did a shot of tequila at 30, not only would my clothes fall off; I'd probably fall down instantly and puke. This is 30.


While I write this blog, I'm checking the time. Because God knows that with an incredibly energetic toddler who is an "early bird gets the worm" kind of kid, I actually can't stay up past 10 without paying a price for it tomorrow.


I'm glad I got all my partying done and wild oats sowed when I was younger. Because there's no way in hell that I could work full time, be a single mom, have a tiny tornado toddler AND still go out and hang like I did when I was 21.


Tomorrow morning Elly is going to wake up and yell for me to get her. She's going to play coy while I try to snatch her up out of bed. She's going to run streaking throughout the entire upstairs when I try to stick her on the toilet to try and potty. When I give her a hug and squish her face for a kiss and tell her I love her, she'll say, "Love you too, mama."


This is 30.