November 2003:ￂﾠI am barely 23, married, and a newly christened mommy to a nursing, doesn't sleep much, what some would call high needs, six-month-old baby. I have spent the past half-year mostly alone (aside from the man I am married to) because all my young friends are busy drinking wine coolers and generally doing things that do not involve the constant holding of a very small person. I am oh so in love with my baby and my husband, but also pretty depressed with my frumpy, no-fun self. So when I find out Modest Mouse, my favorite band ever up to that point, is coming to town, I grab a ticket and head to the mall so I can own one outfit in my post-baby size that looks non-mom yet also holds my now-enormous boobs. I have the typical first-time-mom reluctance to leave my baby for one second ever, but know the alternative is clawing the skin off my own face if I don't do something to feel like a person again. I give Baby Daddy a spiel of instructions and copious thanks and bolt out the door.