This weekend marked the 21st anniversary of my bar mitzvah (I’m what you’d call a pizza bagel; half Italian, half Jewish). I feel ancient. Like an elder. And it’s safe to say I’m starting to act a little older and more responsible, too.

Evidence of the transformation came this weekend, when L’s existence inspired me to tweak the way in which I have practiced leaving Las Vegas for years.

Before L’s arrival, the last night in Vegas was routinely epic. I’d down at least a dozen Crown and sodas. I’d play poker and Pai Gow all night long. The ritual always was fun as it happened, but it also rendered me completely useless for the evening of my return and most of the following day.

Historically, this uselessness was nothing more than a nuisance to Powergirl. Now, however, with L in the picture, especially after I’ve stuck my wife for three days of single motherhood, it’s just plain inconsiderate.

So this weekend—last night, to be exact—I changed my final-night strategy completely.

First, I stopped drinking by 11 p.m. Then I downed a ton of water, so as to avoid dehydration. Next, I made a commitment to get to sleep before sunrise (for me, especially in Vegas, this does require effort). Finally, I forced myself to nap on the plane home, guaranteeing that I’d be fresh and ready to take care of the baby as soon as I walked in the door.

The minor adjustments paid huge dividends. Powergirl was delighted to be relieved of her single parenting duties. L, as well, was happy to see her Daddy so alive and playful. Personally, I felt actually human (gasp!) all day; a novel concept to say the least.

In the scheme of things, I suppose these minor successes really aren’t that big of a deal. For me, though, they were huge. Did I miss spending most of last night being a drunken jackass? I admit it, part of me did. But this whole new parent thing brings with it new responsibilities to both of the girls in my life, and those responsibilities are more important (and fulfilling) than any night on the town could ever be.