No Party Animal

One of the hardest things about pregnancy is giving up alcohol. No glass of wine (or two, or three) at the end of the day to take the edge off. No fun with friends playing Beer Pong or other college drinking game flashbacks that make you feel young again. No drinking in public (because you might just get tied up like a steer at a rodeo and hauled off to D.S.S to be put in solitary confinement). Unless you're lucky enough to have European friends, chances are your nine months are spent entirely dry - leaving you to dream about beer like they were sugar plums.

The one thing you have, though, is looking forward to the moment you're able to cork or pop something open, and finally share an alcoholic beverage (or two, or three) with your husband and friends. What no one tells you, however, is that your drinking capacity is not only permanently altered; but, it's just no fun anymore. It's one thing to wake up hungover pre-pregnancy and know you have to walk the dog, or go visit the in-laws. It's an entirely different ballgame to wake up with (as the Irish say) "a head on ya" and tend to your child.

Last night, my husband and I left Livija with her Grandmother and went to a Yankee Swap. I spent the evening merrily drinking Pomegranate Mimosa's and loving that no one was glaring at me from across the room because I was a baby killer.

Later, as Piyum and I settled into sleep after a night of merriment, it did not occur to me that my "Mommy Mode" might not function properly with alcohol in my system. Usually, a Mommy wakes up several times a night and does a routine environment check: "Where am I? Where is my baby? Is she breathing? Am I breathing?" Okay...back to bed.

Unfortunately, with alcohol, the environment check goes something like this: "Holy Shit (Mommy springs up out of bed)! My baby is on the roof! Wait, I'm in a bucket! My husband is having an affair! Where's my pacifier?" These irrational stirrings can occur several times during the night, and by the time morning comes and it's time to take care of baby, you've had zero sleep, your pony tail is hanging off your head like a droopy unicorn, and your watch has left a dent in your cheek (kind of like in college where the bright red bar stamp from the night before would end up on your forehead, but not nearly as cool).

What is even more unexpected is the guilt. Although I'm not Catholic, I'm pretty sure this guilt is worse than the Catholic sort. You look at your daughter as she plays blissfully in her bouncey seat, unaware that you can't muster up enough energy to sing "Itsy Bitsy." You begin to convince yourself that you're an unfit Mother because you'd rather be sleeping off your TWO drinks than waiting for her to roll over or find her toes.

Yup. Drinking is just no fun when you're a Mommy. Daddy's somehow escape unscathed; but Mommies are doomed to never a touch a drop of alcohol until their son or daughter's wedding day. NOW I understand why Mom's throw nutties when their kids get engaged...they've been waiting 25 plus years for a guiltless drink.