I think last night may have been the first Super Bowl party in our crowd that was part playdate. The mini-people are gaining on the grown-ups, and I am totally okay with that.

(I wish I could blame one of them for spilling a full glass of red wine on a light beige carpet, but I can’t. Hooray for Resolve.)

See, I would have gone for Shotgun’s chili and guac. I would have gone just to hang out with my friends, watch for a wardrobe malfunction, and judge the commercials. But in addition to all that, I got to play with a toddler, cuddle the tallest 4-month-old in recent history, and coo over fraternal twins dressed in matching Ralph Lauren outfits.

The twins were a treat — their parents are friends of friends and I hadn’t seen either of them since last summer. I’ve been cooing over photos of the little ones for six months and was excited to finally meet them.

And it was lovely of their mom to bring those brownies…I recently complained about caterers frosting all brownies, but now it’s clear to me that brownies can and should be frosted, but ONLY with her homemade frosting. Imagine 0re0 creme was made with ingredients found in nature, and then blessed by angels. That’s what her frosting tastes like.

Stephen, my 4-month-old boyfriend, was as charming as always. I can’t imagine what we must look like to him — I don’t know what a 4-month-old’s visual range is, but there was a lot going on all over the place and he lasted longer than I would have. The poor little guy is so ready to move and play and try to keep up with his sister…he just has to wait for his body to catch up.

His sister and I had some quality Tickle Time. (I’m always grateful for ticklish kids — you can always entertain ticklish kids.) She’d stretch out on her tummy on the couch and I’d grab her feet and drag her back toward me. If I didn’t grab her feet right away, she’d start scooting backwards to keep the game moving. After the dragging came the tickling…and that’s how I worked off the Crack Dip.

(Don’t ask me what’s in the Crack Dip. I have blocked that information as unnecessary and possibly disturbing.)

I should rephrase my first line — the best part of the Super Bowl party was that it wasn’t a playdate. It was a party of adults, some of whom have kids and all of whom were okay with having kids around.

I remember being a young(er) adult and going to parties that became All About The Baby. All other conversation ended. Cooing and begging to hold the baby was reqired. Not cooing and begging to hold the baby meant you hated children and were probably a lesbian. Everyone was so careful and so focused and so attentive to the baby’s every audible whimper… It gave the impression that, once you had a kid, your entire existence was reduced to wiping up drool, and everyone else needed to adjust to your priorities when The Baby was around. This was daunting to someone who barely liked kids when she was one and didn’t figure out she wanted to be a mother until after everyone else seemed to think she should already be picking out baby names.

Of course, now that my maternal instinct is active, I have placed it in lockdown…

So thank you to all of my friends (and their friends) for practicing Accessible Parenting, for maintaining your non-kid-related relationships, and for continuing to care about other stuff while you’re taking on a very difficult and rewarding job. You make parenting look kind of fun, and you let me think I might be able to hack it someday.

And, um, congratulations to the Pittsburgh Steelers and stuff.