On The Rocks
Five years of pregnancy and breastfeeding have totally squished my alcohol tolerance. I will need to jump on the shots wagon once Chewy is fully weaned. No, no, no – shots are for clueless beginners. Or twenty-somethings, which I’m so not. Perhaps I’ll swallow my pride and start off with some chick drinks (very PC, feminist me). After all, I’m not trying to outdrink a bunch of dudes at an after-work pub in order to compensate for my lack of stature. Or gender.
Maybe I should use this, uh, opportunity to quit for good like I swore every time I nursed a hangover with a buttery toasted bagel and bottomless black coffee. ‘sides, I think I’m at a point where I’d feel sleepy before any signs of getting buzzed cropped in. Some would call that old. And I would, I would…I would just Kung Fu kick ‘em with a double-split in the air, if only my calcium-starved bones wouldn’t snap in agony. Excuse me while I fix myself a cold, tall glass of a Postpartum Mary aka strawberry milk.
Once the weaning has been completed, the taste buds will come back. Its not about needing the drink to fall asleep, its for the nice buzz, and going back to chattering about things other than poop and milestones. I have had indulgent audiences smile at my chattering buzzed self when i felt i had to hold forth on every topic other than the parts of my body that had bloomed into strange creatures.
“chattering about things other than poop” – Exactly!
Dear NP, came across your blog, and enjoyed reading your irreverent takes on motherhood. Wanted to talk to you about writing for another platform. How can I get in touch? (or perhaps, you could send me a mail at the email ID I’m using here?)