Every Saturday, I leave Aidan is Wesley’s care and escape for what I like to call “Erika Sanity Time”.  It’s a time for me to sit down, read a book, and relax without running the risk that a tiny little human will need me for anything for at least an hour.

I usually set up camp at a cozy Starbucks near my house, but a few weeks ago the weather was nice so I decided to enjoy a margarita out on the patio of a local Mexican restaurant.  I’ve enjoyed a few alcoholic beverages since Aidan was born, but Wes has, at my request, made them all pretty light.

This margarita was not light.  But I didn’t know that until it was too late.

There I am, murder mystery novel in one hand, empty margarita glass in the other, and I take stock.  I’m feeling nothing.  No buzz, not drunkity, nothing.

Curious, I figure they watered down the margarita or something so I order another one.  I figure, “Hey!  I’m relaxing, who knows when I’ll get to do this again, why not do it up right?”

Well, a quarter of the way through the second margarita the first one hits home.  And I am plastered.

Wes texts me to ask if I’m having fun and I can barely type back.  I self-correct my hundreds of little typos and assure him that not only am I drunkity, I’ve solved the murder mystery to boot.

Now I have a little bit of a problem.  I’m hammered, sitting in a public place, and, because I never really did any partying in my youth, I’m not really sure what to do about it.

So I start shoveling tortilla chips into my mouth like I’m a bulldozer operator on a Friday afternoon.  In between mouthfuls of tortilla chips, I pound glasses of water.  Over the next hour, I receive no less than three scornful glances from the waiters, who all watch me inhale the chips with something like disdain and disgust.  This doesn’t matter, though, because my intoxication level drops from drunkity to merely slap-happy.

I estimate that I’ll be safe to drive in another hour or so, so I gather my things, pay up, and hit the grocery store.  Where I discover something magical: Shopping is approximately 1000% more fun when you’re slightly buzzed.

The same annoying people were still there, but I just didn’t care.  I floated through the aisles, admiring the pretty displays and really taking the time to examine the different products on the shelves.  I smiled and made polite chit-chat with the clerks and cashiers I crossed paths with.

By the time I sobered up and climbed into my car, my grocery shopping was done and I couldn’t have been more relaxed.  Let this be two lessons to you:

• Lesson the first: If you’ve recently been pregnant, you are a lightweight.  One margarita ought to do it, lady.
• Lesson the second: If you find grocery shopping (or crowds {or the exorbitant price of food}) as stressful as I do, maybe go grocery shopping with a little buzz.  Or, conversely, if you run into a total grumpus at the store, try suggesting to them that they hit the bar before hitting you with their shopping cart again.

So, my post yesterday was not very uplifting, nor was it particularly artistic or well-written.  It was kind of a mess, really.  I’ve decided I’m ok with publishing those every now and again, but no more than that, lest my readers decide to start charging me for therapy services rendered.

I am vastly comforted by the feedback I received on the post, however.  Sometimes you just need people to remind you that the situation is larger than your little monkeybrain can compute at the moment.  My hormone addled monkeybrain and I appreciate your comments and help.

I thought I might celebrate my (temporarily?) recovered sanity by sharing a funny little observation Wes and I made at our birthing class last night.

We have snack time in our birthing class, which is exactly as awesome as it sounds, and every week two of the couples bring in snacks for everyone.  The snack this week was string cheese, Babybel cheese, Ritz crackers, apple slices, and Oreo cookies.  Wes and I grabbed a plate with an assortment and sat down next to another couple.

I said, “I love this snack, it’s very fancy this week.”  I meant it.  Here I was with some cheese, some crackers, and some fruit.  In my mind, it was one glass of Pinot Grigio away from being a sophisticated repast.

The girl sitting next to me laughed and said, “Yes, just like kindergarten!”

And then we realized: Cheese, crackers, and fruit can either be a fancy snack or a kindergarten snack.  It just depends on what you drink with it.  If you add wine, it’s a fancy party.  If you add grape juice, bust out the nap mats and eat some glue because it’s kindergarten hour.

Silly, huh?