Reasons Mommy Drinks (15 page)

NOTE

Feel great about your headache the next day. The more throbbing it is, the more you did your part for the environment.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

Mommy was punch drunk from labor when she signed you up for Infant Swim at the local public pool. She had visions of you floating peacefully in the water, an extension of the womb, but failed to consider this would mean pouring herself into postpartum swimwear. Visual reference: sausage bursting on a BBQ. All Mommy owns are neon string bikinis from a previous life, but she can’t bear to buy a sensible one piece from the I’ve Given Up line at Sears. As a small (large) bonus, her boobs have swollen to the size of Jessica Simpson’s and have never looked trashier, in a good way. She’s hoping this distracts from the train wreck happening south of the double-D border, cruelly highlighted by a now-permanent
linea nigra
. The class is only twenty minutes long, but it takes almost an hour to wriggle you into swim diapers and get herself dressed while balancing you on a germ-infested bench. One round of the “Fishy Wishy” song and your lips have turned blue, so Mommy wraps you in a towel and lets her dream that you’ll become the next Missy “the Missile” Franklin float away with the pool noodle. As she dries you off while plodding back down the pool deck, Mommy can already feel the plantar wart growing on her foot. At no point during this experience did you look like the baby on the cover of the Nirvana album. Oh well, whatever, nevermind.

INGREDIENTS

1 ounce blue curaçao

3 ounces lemonade

Splash of lemon-lime soda

INSTRUCTIONS

Fill a glass with ice. Pour in the curaçao, lemonade, and lemon-lime soda and stir.

NOTE

Smells like teen spirits.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

When Mommy learned that babies fly free until they’re two (at which point they’re charged the
full fare
!), she decided it was time to rack up some serious air miles, even if that meant the occasional solo mission without her wingman, Daddy. Cut to your very first flight. When Mommy was single, she remembers seeing a parent with child in tow and praying that person wouldn’t sit next to her. Now she
is
that person. Mommy has changed two dirty diapers, flashed half of economy class, and endured five judgmental stares, and the captain hasn’t even turned on the
FASTEN SEAT BELT
sign yet. Meanwhile, Mommy might as well have bought you a full-price fare with all the extra charges she’s incurred for carting the following across the country: your Pack ’n Play, car seat, stroller, wardrobe, and the hundred diapers you’ll blow through by Thursday. It takes an excruciating hour of pacing up and down the aisle, but Mommy finally manages to rock you to sleep. Only for you to wake up twenty minutes later, at which point she’s barely made it past the opening credits of the in-flight movie. Unfortunately, the only thing entertaining you at the moment is licking the fold-down tray and ingesting pieces of the tattered
Sky-Mall
magazine. The way this trip is going, she will barely be able to summon up the courage to board the return flight home, let alone take advantage of JetBlue’s seat sale for trip number two. Looks like Mommy can tuck her passport away in the place she keeps sleep, downtime, and white clothing, only to be unpacked once you’re old enough for overnight camp.

INGREDIENTS

1 ounce gin

¼ ounce maraschino liqueur

¼ ounce apricot brandy

Splash of lemon juice

INSTRUCTIONS

Combine all the ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake well and strain into a glass.

NOTE

Airsick bag optional.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

Mommy and Daddy used to look for property based on number of exposed beams and proximity to independent espresso bars. Now it’s based solely on school district and parks per square mile. They had to sell their fantastic downtown sub-penthouse loft with concrete floors and angles and have traded it in for a tiny, leaky money pit with a yard covered in weeds in a family-friendly neighborhood. Mommy loved making no effort whatsoever to know her neighbors and avoiding eye contact in the elevator. Now she has to memorize everyone’s name (which involves Post-its lining the inside of her kitchen cabinetry) and force a smile the minute she turns down her tree-lined street. As a general rule, Mommy hates all of humanity—especially when she is this sleep deprived—so this is a daily challenge. No longer can she stumble out of her building and find herself in a trendy restaurant or designer boutique. Now she finds herself wrestling you in and out of the Peg Perego to schlep you to Home Depot. As a small bonus, watching Daddy swear at the lawn mower is kind of Ward Cleaver sexy.

INGREDIENTS

1 ounce Pimms

3 ounces lemonade