Squeezing past the gaggle of gorgeous twenty-somethings in the Royal Ontario Museum‘s ladies room on Saturday night, I couldn’t help but wish I’d kept up with this season’s Gossip Girl. Here I was rubbing shoulders with the young elite of Canadian high society, and all I could think about was whether my borrowed dress could contain my ever-increasing milky bosom. I thought about launching a gossip blog, but then realized I have no idea who these people are, despite the paparazzi trail in their wake.
It was ROM Prom IV, the Young Patrons’ Circle‘s annual gala dinner-and-dance fund raiser. Eye Weekly footed the bill for my husband and I to partake of the Mark McEwan-catered dinner and South Beach themed dance party. It was without a doubt the most regal party I’ve attended to date, and just getting there required a team of helpers. I just had a baby five months ago, which means I’m well-entrenched in my post-partum jeans and t-shirt wardrobe. Not a ball gown in sight.
(I am of the variety of slight women who grow incredible massive whilst pregnant. My weight gain was 50 and 40 lbs respectively during each of my pregnancies, and it took me over a year to lose the bulk of those extra pounds the first time. Consider the ridiculously snowy winter we just had and the fact that I now I own a car and imagine how far I am from my pre-pregnancy wardrobe. At least I had the sense to pack it away this time so it doesn’t taunt me.)
I called upon the generous graces of a well-heeled cousin-in-law and came away from her closet with the perfect white dress to flatter both the South Beach theme and my figure. Some new make-up, a fistful of bobby pins and perseverance on my part produced an entirely passable result. (Just please let me look good enough to blend in, I kept hoping. Oh, how far we’ve fallen . . .) We enlisted the help of two babysitters, so as not to utterly ruin either one. Our 35-month-old spent the night with one set of grandparents, while my mother came over to take care of the baby. And I spent the better part of three days expressing milk. (We only had a week’s notice and, no, I don’t have a stash in the freezer.)
The dinner was really quite nice — not my favourite meal ever, but certainly the best dinner for 300 I’ve ever had. The service was excellent, too, and there was lots of it. I’ve done my share of catering and I was floored by just how many waiters were working that night. You can get the backstage info when the episode of The Heat featuring this event eventually airs. You might even see me: I’ll be woman obsessively checking to see if there were any missed calls on her cell phone as the cameras swoop down and my dessert is served. No missed calls.
And then there was the party. Imported Miami DJs JoJo Flores and Mateo and a team of drummers and dancers produced just the right vibe. The open bar might have helped, too. Still, we had to push ourselves to hang in until 11pm, claiming the party would have been really fun if our own friends were there. Watching the posh party-goers arrive, I wondered at how fleeting the chapters of our life seem. Wasn’t it just yesterday that my friends and I were the hot young things on the dance floor, prepared to party until dawn? It wasn’t that I felt too old necessarily (though maybe a bit) so much as I felt like somebody’s mom. And, well, I guess I’ve been there and done that (though not at that price point) and I got tired of it, so now I’m doing spit up and mud puddles.
It was very nice to wash up and have another taste, though.
breastfed babies. New studies are heralding this standard vitamin as the panacea prevention against everything from cancer to osteoporosis. The only natural source of D is the sun (and some mushrooms), so we really need to boost our input during the winter (October to March) when the sun’s rays are particularly feeble in countries like Canada. 
Sex education is de rigueur up here in Canada, thank god. We don’t have to constantly grapple with the “abstinence only” crackpots that are hijacking the American school system, despite