Reasons Mommy Drinks (3 page)

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

And so you are born. Mommy had pictured a Circle of Life moment, scored by Elton John, in which you would gracefully whoosh into the world. In truth, the whole thing was a shit show. Yet somehow you are perfect and unscathed. Now it’s Mommy and Daddy’s job not to break you. You weigh less than Mommy’s Marc Jacobs tote, and once the doctors and nurses leave the room, Mommy and Daddy give each other a blank stare that conveys that neither of them has any idea what to do next. The nurses pop in to manhandle you, and while it causes Mommy and Daddy unadulterated panic, you seem alarmingly unfazed by it all. Leaving the hospital is terrifying. Mommy is crippled by the fear that she’s going to drop you, fail to support your head, or say something permanently scarring to Daddy like “Send it back!” It’s also a challenge because it takes one hour to buckle you into the car seat and another hour to cautiously travel the 2.8 miles home.

Now they’re home. Alone. FUUUUUUUUUUCK. They worry that although they wash their hands compulsively, the Ebola virus is too strong for Bath & Body Works. They worry every gurgle is a sign you’re choking and within the first forty-eight hours call 911 twice. They worry the black stuff oozing out of you is actually your inner organs. They watch you sleep; they watch you breathe; they cradle you gently and pray to God they’re doing it right. Or at least not doing it
totally
wrong.

NOTE

Buy a whole case. You’re going to need it.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

Naming you was one of the more stressful things about being pregnant. After all, your name is your brand. Mommy had lists and lists written in notebooks, on Post-its, and in 4,987 emails to Daddy. What name would her friends say judgmental things about behind her back? What would look good on the ballot for president and in no way sound like it belongs to a stripper? What would work best with Daddy’s last name? Ugh, that’s another thing. Mommy thinks it’s archaic that babies almost automatically get their fathers’ last names. She considered hyphenating your last name, but unless you’re British royalty, it sounds pretentious. Actually, even then it sounds pretentious. Plus, when Mommy mentioned it to Daddy, he mumbled something about pregnancy hormones and went and got her cheese fries at 4
AM
, and she promptly dropped the whole thing. Ultimately, when it came to naming you, Daddy chimed in with helpful suggestions like “I slept with a girl named that once,” but it was Mommy who scoured the Nameberry website, every name book at Barnes & Noble, and the family tree and finally landed on the perfect moniker. Which Grandma and Grandpa hate.

INGREDIENTS

1½ ounces raspberry syrup

4 ounces chilled sparkling nonalcoholic cider

INSTRUCTIONS

Chill a wine glass. Stir the syrup with cracked ice in a mixing glass and pour into the wine glass. Fill with the apple cider and stir gently. Forget muddling over your narrowed-down list of 412 names and go muddle some raspberries to make this mocktail even more delicious.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

Even though Mommy and 90 percent of her cohort grew up exclusively on formula and still manage to navigate life just fine, Mommy bowed to the pressure and decided to try her hand (well, actually, breast) at feeding you. The studies (with ten disclaimers) about improved brain development piqued her curiosity, but truth be told, it was the prospect of burning five hundred calories a day while parking herself in front of
Ellen
that sealed the deal. Not to mention the price tag of free. With serene stock photography images of nursing mothers and children from the hospital literature dancing in her head, Mommy was shocked to discover that the early days of breast-feeding can be even more painful than labor. Daddy has his own shockisode when he watches Mommy’s breasts swell to triple Es the night her milk comes in. Although his arousal quickly subsides when your incorrect latch leaves Mommy’s nipples looking like raw hamburger meat. Five trips to the lactation consultant and an $800 bill later, Mommy finally reaches a point where breast-feeding you doesn’t feel like a thousand pins and needles being shoved into her nipples simultaneously. Looking down on you while you suckle yourself to sleep, she suddenly feels all Movie-of-the-Week emotional. Though she’ll never admit it to Daddy (because she’s still cashing in her bout with mastitis for back rubs and sleep-ins), Mommy thinks breast-feeding you is kind of awesome.

NOTE

Though not supported by any empirical evidence whatsoever, one glass is purported to help your milk come in. Irish: 1, Science: 0.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK