Valentine's Day Is For...

Kiddie parties.

Once, long ago, it used to be for lovers, but then those lovers decided to shack up, she got knocked up and, after birthing the rug-rat, they had no more viable excuses as to why they couldn't enjoy an afternoon at The Playroom with a bunch of squealing 2-year-olds.

Otter, now familiar with the party circuit, wasn't sweatin' it. She took a leisurely nap, cementing the fact that "1 hour late" is the new "on time". She puked copiously on her party outfit and the floor as soon as we walked through the front door of the place. Just to show us this was NO different than her usual routine. She tried to grab pizza crust out of my hand, though she'd have absolutely no idea what to do with it if she got it. She even got to ride a little bug-shaped trike with Bree pushing and me supporting while she grabbed madly for the handlebars. She also met her name counterpart, Griffin (though sadly, didn't get a photo with him).

Tired out from so much partying, we left an hour later and tried to put her down for a nap. It was a decided, rousing failure. On the upside, she did get a goodie bag the contents of which she'll be able to enjoy in 2 to 3 years.

Late at night (and by "late" I mean about 9pm), after Otter was tucked away in bed, I sat down to a dinner that Bree had made for me, followed by my V-day present - a ricotta cheesecake he'd baked. Admiring the tulips he got me and catching up on Tivo'd Grey's Anatomy, I realized that Valentine's Day might still be for lovers, a little bit.