The dao of drunken parenting

After writing so earnestly yesterday about how I am going to go off and find my exercise passion in a very Oprah-esque way, I went out this evening and promptly downed slices of pizza (appetizer sized), shrimp skewers (seafood, so very healthy), cheese (no way to interpret this one as anything but cardiac arrest inducing although I did eat the cheese with figs, so , it was like eating fruit which is beyond healthy), olives (aren't they the GOOD type of fat?) and part of a mini burger that seemed to be smothered in mayo (ditto on the cardiac arrest thingy) and for good measure, I washed my cardiac arrest down with two martini's (delish) and two champagne cocktails (how civilised!). So, the truth is that I really had zero intention of exercising at all, I mean who am I kidding? the very word "cardio" makes me sweat and that's workout enough for me. However, don't think that I won't be enjoying a late night Kozy Shack 90 calorie pudding because, first, we bought a flat of them from Costco so that's the only thing that fits in the fridge and second, let's face it, it's like eating nothing at all, in fact, you might actually lose weight because they are that GOOD.

In addition to learning that I am a complete and utter fibber when it comes to "exercising more" I also learned that drunken parenting is highly underrated; not only is it stress free and enjoyable, it is downright fun. Now, before you go off and report me to Children's Services, Mr. Lemony Lemonade supervised said drunken parenting so, no children were hurt in the course of my drunken parenting.

My first order of drunken parenting business was to throw caution and routine to the wind and break my most sacred evening rule, "don't get Baby Girl hyper before bed" which of course meant that I promptly started a tickle fight which, in hindsight was a bad idea because in my compromised condition, I was quickly overpowered by Baby Girl (who, by the way, tickles like she is kicking the s&*% out of you). Baby Girl, in the space of seconds managed to head butt me and give me, what I believe to be a shiner on my left eye and then proceeded to square Mr. Lemony Lemonade, all the while laughing hysterically. Just in case I hadn't made her hyper enough with the tickle fight, I snuck a bag of marshmellows upstairs like a common criminal where we proceeded to shove them into our mouths by the fistful.

The tragic truth, however, is that all that my two martinis and two champagne cocktails did was remove much of the anxiety inherent in parenting one's first-born, precious, prodigy-genius child rendering me into an idiotic woman-child who thinks that feeding a two year old a pound of sugar before bed is a brilliant idea - but really, what child ever failed to get into Oxford because they had eaten marshmellows before bed?

Therefore, the inescapable conclusion is that exercising and healthy living only lead to bad, anxiety-ridden parenting while a teensy martini once a day and NO EXERCISE will render you a fantastic parent, full of joie de vivre and childish delight. So, jaunty, jogging girls with your fancy Lululemon outfits and your lithe runners legs, a votre sante and cheers!