Operation Momma Get Your Bootie Back

First things first.  I loathe the word bootie.  And the word momma. They might as well be code words for "My self-esteem is in the toilet and I'm spending waaaay too much time objectifying my physical form." They give me the mental image of girls in the club doing whatever it is that girls in the club do.    

See, it's been a WAAAAAY long time since I've participated in any kind of past 10' o'clock culture unless it involved a deadline or insomnia-driven internet wander. I've long since settled into married introversion bliss where the two of us work really intensely and use it as an excuse to not do anything social. Having a baby was an even better excuse to stay at home and not mingle. Plus, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have anything to wear with the "baby fat". So I've excused my way out of all but a couple of weddings and odd "events."

This year is not going to play my way.  Mardi Gras Balls (because we've blown them off for three years), Weddings, Vacations (other people bring cameras on those), and I just learned yesterday that Jon is in charge of organizing his 20th high school reunion.  This is me screaming on the inside.

Well, my internet friends... after an inventory of my closet (who am I kidding, all I had to do was look in the mirror), I've taken this homebody thing too far.  It seems there's a balance, and I've allowed us to live on just one side of the teeter totter for too long.  I no longer have anything I can just "throw on", mostly because I would laugh out loud when only my arm would make it through.  Maybe I should have been more vain.  

SO, in celebration of trying to put humpty back together again, I'm using the word bootie.  Cause I gotta find what I did with my old one.