Reasons Mommy Drinks (10 page)

Mommy used to have the emotional resolve of Helen Mirren in
The Queen
. Now she cries when she misplaces her Lip Smackers. She’s not sure if it’s hormones, sleep deprivation, or Beatrix Potter books that have caused this new psychosis, but she’s become annoyingly sensitive. The following may have made her cry this week: Being put on hold. The zoo. Socks you’ve outgrown.

Even the wrong tweet can send her into a tailspin of tears, so she had to unfollow Miley Cyrus. The other thing that can cause her to explode into hysterics is this: absolutely nothing. She’s an emotional ticking time bomb and Daddy’s in the trenches. If he has any chance of coming out of this alive, he needs to learn the following phrases ASAP: “Cloud White and Decorator White
are
completely different colors,” “Let’s hire a cleaning lady,” and “My mother is being unreasonable.”

INGREDIENTS

1 ounce gin

3 ounces tonic

Splash of grapefruit juice

Zest of lemon

INSTRUCTIONS

Cry me a river of booze by bringing sexy back to an old classic. Fill a glass with ice. Pour in the gin, tonic, and grapefruit juice and stir. Garnish with lemon zest and a box of Kleenex. It’s hormonal happy hour!

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

Before you were born, Mommy used to splurge on the season’s latest handbag. Now she admonishes such extravagant spending and can regularly be found pillaging the sales rack at Old Navy. Her adorable Chanel clutch has been replaced by an oversized Skip Hop messenger tote which, like you, she carries everywhere. What it lacks in style it makes up for in cubic volume, stuffed to the brim with everything from depleted Starbucks cards to Baby Mum-Mum wrappers. Also in tow are a half-dozen backup Onesies in preparation for the diaper explosion that will inevitably happen five minutes after leaving home. At which point Mommy will realize she’s down to her very last wipe. Mommy is painfully aware that she’s headed down a slippery slope lined with sensible shoes and high-waisted denim, but the stench of your dirty diapers has fried the parts of her brain responsible for pride and personal care.

INGREDIENTS

1 ounce gin

1 ounce coffee liqueur

1 ounce cream

INSTRUCTIONS

Combine all the ingredients in a shaker with cracked ice. Shake well and strain into a crystal martini glass. Take off those mom jeans and remember what Coco said: “A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous” (read: not wearing front pleats).

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

If it wasn’t for the fact that Daddy needed the Corolla today, there is no way Mommy would subject you to this underground hell to get to Gymboree. On public transportation, all common decency goes out the emergency glass window. Suddenly people think it’s okay to clip their nails, eat a falafel, and hum in public—and that’s all done by the
same person
. Not to mention the sweaty man next to you who missed the memo on soap and water as basic tools of life. At least you have more teeth than he does. The tweens at the end of the car are dressed like Nicki Minaj, reek of Marlboros, and are swearing like they’re on an HBO special. Mommy silently prays you join the Mathletes. All this stimulation is too much for your tiny brain to process and you won’t stop screeching until Mommy picks you up. Even though she’s holding an infant while careening through a tunnel at fifty miles per hour, no one offers Mommy a seat, and she refuses to hold the pole because of the 412 strains of bacteria it’s harboring. “The next station is Nervous Breakdown.” Despite the fact that Mommy is struggling to push the Bugaboo with one hand while holding you and your diaper bag with the other, no one clears a path as she tries to get off. Mommy manages to claw through the throngs of people like Moses parting the Red Sea only to discover this station doesn’t have a working elevator. Thud thud thud. Mommy drags you up 478 stairs and gives you mild whiplash while no one offers to help. Slow clap for humanity.

INGREDIENTS

1 ounce of rye, rum, vodka, or gin

4 ounces fruit punch

INSTRUCTIONS

Fill a glass with ice. Pour in your bar rail of choice and fruit punch, and stir. Unlike the guy sitting next to you, don’t consume out of a paper bag.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

Mommy used to get shit done. Now she gets shit on. How does such a tiny person consistently produce so much volume? It gets in every little crevice down there. It goes up your back. It goes down your legs. It goes sideways? First it started out as sticky black tar. Then the mustard stuff. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t so bad. Mommy didn’t realize how good she had it when you were exclusively fed breast milk. Now that you’re eating solids, this shit is getting real, fast. The inaccurately named Diaper Genie isn’t very magical at all because the smell permeates the whole house. Unless, at the drop point, someone (read: Daddy) quickly runs the hot mess to the green bin outside. There’s no waiting for Daddy to get home though, as The Situation must be dealt with immediately lest you get a diaper rash. But oh, the horror that unfolds with the diaper. No one accurately prepared Mommy for this, and there are some triple-poo days when she actually throws up in her mouth a little. Of course, Mommy tries to remain calm, even when you drop a deuce in the bath, or in the Jolly Jumper, or on the wall, or OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT IN MOMMY’S HAIR? Shit.