So I'm a lightweight

... of course not physically a lightweight. I'm quite hefty in those stakes (but no bigger feet Mimi, yet...) but tonight I had a glass of wine.
After not drinking for nine months it has gone right to my head.
In fairness I had a celebratory glass when the wee woman was born but I so flipping high on adrenalin it couldn't touch me. Tonight though is different. Half a glass and I'm doolally.
This does not bode well.
I'm Irish and it's almost St. Patrick's Day. I should be fit to drown the Shamrock like a good 'un. Instead I'm craving a nice cup of tea. It all feels very civilised. And old.

Tonight I was talking with my sisters about my youngest sister's forthcoming wedding in July. My "baby" sister will be 28 when she marries her beloved and both myself and my older sister told her she was much too young to get married.
"I'll be 28," she replied defiantly.
"Yes," we responded, almost in unison, "but you are our baby sister... you'll always be five."
"You marriedat 24," she countered.
And it made me stop in my tracks.

I'm 32. I'll be celebrating my 8th wedding anniversary soon. We've two kids, a mortgage and all sorts of grown up responsibilities. And I can no longer tolerate wine.
Is this is the start of the decline into middle-agedness or is it a post-baby lull? Will I, as Grace did in 'Rainy Days and Tuesdays' get my bling back or is this as good as it gets?
Then again - this is pretty good right now. Stretch marks, grey roots and annoying mortgage. I'm happy, relatively healthy and have two amazing children who I look at each day and think "oooh, I did good".

Yes, this is wine enhanced brain dump... but what else would I be doing on a Friday night?