6 a.m. is the new 9 a.m. (Also: Things Bartenders Should Not Say To Me)

Today, I finally admitted to myself that 6 a.m. is my new “sleeping in.” And now that I’ve faced that fact, I’m oddly cool with it. Today, instead of mumbling about how suddenly, at 4 a.m., Suzianne wants to be fed every two hours, I owned it. After the 6 a.m. feeding and 7 a.m. put down, I made myself breakfast, pulled out my laptop and got stuff done.

Where was Dave in all this? Oh, he was getting some well-deserved sleep because last night he did my taxes and fed Suzianne at 1 a.m. so I could sleep. Good Lord, I love that man.

Speaking of Dave, yesterday, he chilled with Suzianne so I could go have a little me time, which means brunch and $1 mimosas! I was feeling pretty good about myself. My nails were recently shellacked with a fancy french manicure; I even had on jeans AND mascara.

I sidle up to the bar to hold court and the bartender slides me a drink napkin. It was downhill from there.

Bartender: Hey, there. Long night last night?

Me: {weary but happy smile} Yes!

Bartender: New baby at home, huh?

Me: {blink, blink; sideways look} Um, well, yes. Actually, yes.

Bartender: {beaming with pride} I can always tell.

Wait.

What?

How could he tell I had a new baby at home? Did I look like a severely sleep-deprived, hormonal basket case? Because, if you’ll remember, I thought I was cute yesterday. I had even taken a shower just a day (or two? maybe?) before.

Could the dude not have at least ATTEMPTED to act like he thought Dave and I had been out closing down the bars with Joe Flood, like we did for the 2.5 years prior to my pregnancy?

Whatever. I managed to enjoy my mimosa and three-cheese omelet despite the bartender and the guy two stools down from me humming “House of the Rising Sun” for 15 minutes straight.

But next time, come on, barkeep, give a gal a break.

Oops! That was rude of me to only show you my thumb, after I told you how awesome my nails look. Here you go:

You’re welcome.

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