When one of my Cali girlfriends sent out an invite to a girls weekend in San Fransisco, I was pumped. My life for the last three months had been diapers, spit up and sore nipples. For nine months before that I was pregnant. So it had been a year between martinis and I was ready to get my party on (read: take a weaving class, get a massage, a pedicure and four hours of sleep in a row. Crazy).
I mentioned it to Robbie, who had just been on a boys weekend in San Diego, and he was like, “Go! Relax! Weave!” When I discovered that Maryanne Moodie was teaching a weaving class in San Fransisco the very same weekend, it felt like stars were aligning.
I imagined a cheeky pre-flight martini, a relaxing trip over with a movie on a tiny screen, maybe a nap. I’d get there, check in, maybe take another nap before dinner with the girls. I’d do my weaving class and some relaxing during the day and hang out with the ladies at night. I’d return to my boys relaxed and rejuvenated. A new woman, if you like.
Leaving my 11-week-old baby for a weekend was actually not the liberating, power-mama experience I thought it would be. As soon as I got in the taxi (at 5am) to catch my flight, I was missing him. By the time I got to Logan airport I was asking myself what kind of f*@king psycho goes on a trip across country less than three months after giving birth?
I got it together but never really had that feeling of freedom or relaxation. I didn’t get a massage and I didn’t get a pedicure. I did get my haircut though, and I did go to my weaving class. We also drank champagne and danced like fools in a club designed for much younger people with no day jobs, no husbands, and certainly no children. You entered the club via a slide from street level. I bruised my elbow coming down because I’m an old lady and have no place entering a club via a slippery dip. I also developed a plugged milk duct so everything I did for the whole weekend was nuanced with the threat of an emergency room visit.
I also arrived late to this oyster and chardonnay fest at the wharf. I was getting that haircut. My friend took this table shot.
It was great to spend time with the girls – just next time it won’t be 11 weeks postpartum. I think that should make a difference.
I took the Red Eye back to Boston and when I got home at about 8am, I hugged my babies and told them I was never leaving again. Ever.
You can read about what I was doing in San Francisco here.