Mama Loves Disco.

At 11 am on Saturday morning, I was despairing. CG was clearly still sick and taking an early nap. Z seemed to be feeling better but was still fussy, didn't want to read books until I put them away and then she was all "BOOTCH! BOOOOTTTCCcHHHHH!" *repeatrepeatrepeat*, and nothing was right. All signs pointed to us missing an event we (and by "we", I mean ME) had been looking forward to for weeks: Baby Loves Disco. (I mean, why live in LA if not to partake in such things? Why else would I deal with the smog and the silicone and the traffic and the Botoxed, perma-tanned, Stepford weathermen?? MAMA WANT DISCO.)

As I resigned myself to the thought that Z was just too fussy to inflict on the breeding, discoing hipsters in Hollywood, I started blabbing to her about how our friends T, T, and D were going to be there. She paused her whining for a moment. Then I mentioned there would be dancing. She immediately stood up and did a little knee bounce/shoulder shimmy that made her mama proud.

With that inspiration, I threw her craziest clothes on her, stuffed some snacks in my purse and ran out the door.

And a disco star (with leg warmers, no less) was born.


Okay, not really. She pretty much clung to me the whole time, barely tolerated any time standing on her own two feet and only "danced" if a tantrum foot stomp can be considered part of the hustle. Plus, my back is still sore from bouncing her solid little toddler self around the dance floor for two hours.

But I will take what I can get. Mama does love her disco.