Last night, I went out with my fellow 2-year old triplet moms for dinner and dessert and I didn't get home until 12:15 AM.
Charlie was standing by the door, in his pajamas, waiting for me and Henry.
I felt like a teenager, coming in way past my curfew to the great inquisition.
"Are you aware that it's past midnight?! Why were you out so late?! You should be in bed sleeping! Do you not realize that you had a baby four weeks ago, you have a newborn?!"
My response was "Oh, is that what this appendage is on the front of my body, dangling from my nipple?"
The truth is, although Charlie would have been in bed sleeping soundly, ever since Henry has arrived, I'm always up past midnight. Although, I was quite surprised that he slept the entire six hours we were gone. He woke up only twice, momentarily, to nurse before falling back in to a deep and quiet slumber.
My girlfriends were amazed at Henry's ability to "vertically nurse" while suspended in the Baby Bjorn, but I was more amazed at how peaceful he was.
Equally amazing was that four women, with fourteen children under the age of five between us, had enough stamina to stay until the restaurant not only closed, but turned on it's lights and shooed us out.
Based on the experience, I'm thinking that it might not be a bad idea to keep Henry in the Baby Bjorn all night, every night. I'm currently trying to figure out if I can sleep in it, sitting up comfortably.
My evening out provided some much needed "me" time, while I ate decadent food, sipped imported champagne with a rose petal on top, and listened to stories about my friend's children that sounded remarkably similar to my own.
Although I can certainly understand and appreciate Charlie's worry, it's humorous that a night full of talk about potty training and what's hot for a third birthday party ... would land me in hot water with my husband.
Jen, the renegade mother.
But I'm not totally irresponsible.
At least I covered Henry's head with a napkin before I dove in to my hot fudge brownie sundae.
And when I showed Charlie that I brought him home an 8-layer chocolate tiramisu cake drenched in fudge and topped with strawberries ... I was almost completely forgiven.