Girl, Mom, Me

I knew where they were by their Facebook updates.

First was the "pre-game" apps and a quick beer at the end of Kylie's shift, before Deven picked her up on the way out of Scottsdale.

Then there was the "Kylie just checked into McDonald's in Wickenberg."

And finally, the lights of Vegas.

I had just put Livi down when Toby started barking and I ran up the steps of the casita to find half of my village getting settled and sorting through thigh-baring dresses in preparation for my first girl's weekend after becoming a mom. We hugged, chatted on the balcony and before long I gave them goodnight squeezes so one tired mama could get a few hours in before her little one reminded her that there was an unquenched belly at 2 a.m.

There was the traditional Starbucks run, the morning conversation where we all pull our legs up under us and catch up on life, love and the sometimes lack thereof. Then Livi woke and Kylie, aka The Baby Whisperer, snuggled with my little rabbit until it was time for topless pooling at Amie's house with Sandy from San Diego and Jen from Newport. Even Livi joined in, showing us that a diaper is still tres chic if worn with a little attitude, which my girl has in spades.

Once Livi was safely in daddy's custody mom and the girls checked into Trump, put on sky high heels, ate a little Pho and broke men's necks for the rest of the night. There was dancing. There was singing. There was a drag queen. There was most certainly a scuffle with some angsty security guards and at the end of the night we found ourselves face-deep in spaghetti and pasta carbonara.

I washed off my make up wondering if I could sleep through the night without my little one down the hall. When Mr. J said I could have my girl's night and he'd take care of our little rabbit I knew it wasn't possible. I wake up from the sound of her pacifier bouncing off sheets, so he gave me his blessing to spend the night away. I did.

And I did.

I woke at 9 a.m., yawn, stretch, to the sound of my phone.

Mr. J.

"Is she alive?"

"Yes, she didn't die because you're not here. I need the number for the nanny. I have to run into the office."

"Seriously, you're the one who wakes me up when I have all day to sleep?"

Deven, Kylie and I ordered room service, a day bed by the pool, an umbrella and a pitcher of mojitos. We ended our escapade in line at In and Out surrounded by Daisy Chain raver freaks with nothing on but underpants, rhinestones and clown eyelashes.

And oh how I missed my little rabbit.

I pride myself on not being the crazy mom. I have never cried leaving the house, never broken down in the aisles of Target because I've been away from Livi for more than an hour. I can go to the gym, get in a good sweat, run errands and love on my little girl when I return. Even returning to work was not as difficult as I thought it would be. Sure, there were tears when I'd think about it and roughly three weeks when I quietly explored the notion of being a stay at home mom, but I like getting dressed, feeling accomplished, being me again.

But, a better me.

What I didn't tell you throughout this entire reenactment is that all of me has changed. Walking up the casita stairs was a woman in a pony tail and scrubbed clean skin that hadn't seen make up in months and felt more beautiful than she's ever felt before. The woman in the pool wasn't talking Botox and Us Weekly, but watching her little girl take in the warm water with curious wide eyes. The woman in a short dress and heels felt wobbly, her feet having not been in heels in quite some time. The woman by the pool drinking mojitos couldn't care less whether the bachelor party across the way thought she was cute in her bikini.

The woman in this story suddenly feels more sure, more clear and more confident than ever before. She had to delete the word "girl" when referring to herself, replacing it with woman because girl doesn't describe her anymore.

Maybe woman isn't the right word either. Seems too... official.

Can we settle on hot mama?

Yes, I think that will do just fine.