I am not that girl

Occasionally my husband asks me to "go out" with him.  This usually involves a dark club with dim lighting,  fake smoke,  a line to the bathroom that could circle the planet and music so loud that you can't hear the person talking to you 2 inches from your face.
I would love to think that I could throw all inhibitions  aside and be that person who dances like no one is watching.. Who was the life of the party. 
But I'm not that girl.
I'm not the booty-short wearing,  sequin dawning,  high-heeled wearing person who likes to dance.. period.. much less with strange people all up around her.
My moves are more accidental than skill.  I stumble in conversations from first,  lack of hearing,  and second from lack of interest.  I mean what can we really get into during our screaming match dialogue. 
I understand that this scene might be better suited to someone who lived this life in their youth... But I didn't.  I had never darkened the door of a club until I was married
I do not understand the attraction of a woman who is wearing a dress that barely covers her crotch unless she is indeed looking to sell said crotch. 
But that's just me.  I'm not that girl. 
I show up in my knee-length dress and boots, my string of pearls  around my neck. I am too old for this place although I see many other patrons much older than I. 
I'm pretty sure my husband sees it all as me being prudish or refusing to relax. That of course is entirely true.  Although not something that I can greatly control. 
I simply am not that girl.. And I never will be.

St. Patricks Day

We took all the munchkins out to the parade.  What a beautiful  day!

Our first Governor's Ball

Michael and I really do clean up well.  Here we are all dressed up to go to a ball complete with ice sculptures,  a band,  a buffet in every room and free flowing drinks all night.  It really was a completely magnificent night.

Blue Jean Boycott

It seems that with every child, my body does a fruit basket turnover. The size of my clothes stays the same, but the terrain has changed. Therefore, I am hereby boycotting my blue jeans. They have no forgiveness for the immense amount of change that this body has undergone. They do not provide any leniency for the extenuating curves that held two human lives inside mine. There is not one ounce of leeway for the ebb and flow of water retention. They are merciless to my self esteem and at this point in life, I can do without that.
I am not advocating that I let my body balloon out to whatever size it sees fit, but I am past the notion that I have to fit in the same clothes that I did 6 years and 3 kids ago. It's not fair nor nice to myself to think that way.
So when you see me sporting a dressed up pair of yoga pants out to dinner. I assure you, I have worked very hard and earned every minute of the breathability of those garments. They will never strangle the life out of me when I sit down. If, per chance, I do feel like dessert one night, it will be all right. I left the blue jeans at home.

Seven months... Way too fast

We are eating a little.  Cereal and such.  We are babbling a lot.  There's a "mamamama"  and a "dadadada" coming from these babies which melts my heart.  Surely it's not that they know what they're saying.. But it's one of those little rewards. I'll take it.