Wait, did we forget someone?

As any parent knows, you love your children an unconditional amount and nothing that ever happens in the whole of his life could make you stop. They scream, cry, throw shit, have tantrums, don't nap, get bored and bug you, and whine. And whine and whine. However, you can't just stop loving them or give up. I don't believe it's possible.

You can, however, give the child away to your mother in law for a full weekend. This doesn't mean you love the child any less, it just means you might also love the bitter taste of german beer or the nose tingle of a gin and tonic. I personally adore both. And so last weekend Mister Man was whisked away to a country house far, far away from his parents where he received mountains of attention from his Nan and great aunt and we ate mountains of junk food and, had we not made plans with the cinema, Oktoberfest, Gil Grissom and the fine people at Fire, would probably wouldn't have even bothered showering or putting on pants.

On Friday night, after the child looked at me all, um, WTF? And I looked at him all, Yeah, thems the breaks, kiddo! we packed him into my mother in law's car pointing south and I met Bub in town at the Docklands to see grown men in lederhosen, drink beer, eat a sausage, a bowl of sauerkraut, and more pretzels then I thought I could fit into my stomach. I sort of felt sick but a good kind of sick, you know? And enjoyable sick. A sick that you only get in college or maybe on your 30th birthday (and I wouldn't know, yet) but it's satisfying and for a moment you feel like sort of like you think Danny DeVito feels every day: fat but drunk and awesome.

The next day of freedom followed by us not waking up until 1.30 in the afternoon. 1.30! I don't think I have done that since college at the latest and I was unemployed for six months after I moved here. Recently I had a wine hangover from a Friday night and had to get up and give someone a bottle at 6am. I honestly don't think there is anything more painful than the hungry cry of a baby at six in the morning when your brain wants to explode. It's okay that I just set him up in his crib with the bottle and a bendy straw, right?

We get up, and went into town to see The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. I don't know if this movie has come out in the US or not yet but if it has go see it and if it hasn't go see it as soon as it's released. It was incredibe. Funny, bitter sweet and I'm sure there is a good-will message in there somewhere but I'm not that deep. Really, there was Colin Farrell and Johnny Depp and that's all I need in the world on a movie screen. The fact that it was visually amazing AND the story was excellent was a bonus.

Then back to Oktoberfest for more pretzels. I know this seems excessive but I haven't had a soft pretzel in years. YEARS. Might as well just deprive me of water. Soon after that was The Gin Factory, otherwise known as Fire at the Mansion House. It's a lovely restaurant where we had our rehearsal dinner and we've been back a few times since. The dining room is lovely, the food is very nice and they mix a mean cocktail. And by "mean" I mean it will definitely get you drunk enough to talk explicitly to your husband about threesomes. I'm not saying that's what we talked about. I'm just saying it's that good.

My mother just read that.

And from Fire we went home but we went home happy and feeling a bit like we did before we had Mister Man. However, when I woke up the next morning with a slight hangover but no baby to feed at six AM, I can legitimately say that I was sad. I missed him and I missed those moments in the mornings when he will sit in your arms and drink his bottle without a fight. It's peaceful and dim in the room and he is still that little baby that didn't want to move around independently of us.

We're thrilled to have him back.

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Liz in Dublin