Happy Hour, reworked

Happy hour used to mean standing around drinking cold beer in a room full of 'young professionals', all pretending not to notice each other while attempting to eat jalapeno poppers without spilling hot cheese on their work clothes. Ohhhhh, good times folks.

Happy hour has a new meaning since my daughter arrived, rather early, 12 days ago. Happy hour now refers to the 60 minutes per day when we're both awake, neither of us is crying or pooping, and we're staring at each other thinking, "I can't believe this is happening."

Yes, my daughter is here. It actually worked. It actually worked.

I look back over the past few years of dating, break-ups, single mothers by choice meetings, pregnancies, miscarriages, surgeries, fertility treatments, surrogate hunting, more fertility treatments, failed cycles, and then a pregnancy! Followed by 36 weeks of ultrasounds, doctors appointments, and then .... a baby. Holy shit, it actually worked.

(As an aside, I can't believe that some people get one of these babies by just having sex. Are you serious???)

And now my life has changed forever. All the naysayers told me that I'd never sleep again, never date again, never travel again, never have fun again. And while I'll admit that simple tasks such as a run to the grocery store have suddenly become much more complicated, I say, 'Bring it on'. I'll trade this happy hour for a bud light and a jalapeno popper any day.