Saint Patty’s Day, or the weekend before or after, is one of those times that really shows me how different my life is now that I have a baby than it was a few years ago. I didn’t go to back to back parades in Newport and Southie like I used to. I didn’t even have any beers before 10 a.m. I didn’t rock my green shamrock shades or beads with dangling plastic shot glasses, or even dig out one of my green fitted Flogging Molly tees. I put my son in a Irish sweater and scally and squealed as I took these pictures, and that’s as rowdy as I got. I miss those crazier days, but I’d take these 100 times over.