Reasons Mommy Drinks Read online

  ADVANCE PRAISE FOR

  REASONS MOMMY DRINKS

  “The ultimate baby shower gift.”

  —Author’s sister

  “It’s the must-have for new Moms.”

  —Paid PR person

  “This book is destined to become an Emmy award–winning sitcom.”

  —Authors’ agent

  “Even new fathers will appreciate this book. Buy multiple copies!”

  —Publisher

  “I’m so glad I took my birth control this morning.”

  —Single girl

  Copyright © 2013 by Fiona + Lyranda Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Three Rivers Press, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  www.crownpublishing.com

  Three Rivers Press and the Tugboat design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Portions of this work first appeared on the authors’ blog ReasonsMommyDrinks.com.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Martin Evans, Lyranda.

  Reasons mommy drinks / Lyranda Martin Evans and Fiona

  Stevenson.

  pages cm

  1. Parenthood—Humor. 2. Child rearing—Humor. I. Stevenson, Fiona. II. Title.

  PN6231.P2M345 2013

  818′.602—dc23

  2013017870

  eISBN: 978-0-385-34930-7

  Logo design and pacifier illustrations by Moira Stevenson

  Layout art direction and stemware illustrations by Travis Cowdy

  Cover design by Travis Cowdy

  Cover photography by Vicky Lam

  Author photograph by Gustavo Gonzalez

  v3.1

  This book is dedicated to our amazing children, who bring endless joy to our hearts. We truly didn’t know this kind of happiness was possible before you were born. When you read this book when you’re older, may you not seek immediate emancipation, knowing it in no way relates to your childhood. Now over to our lawyers for more on that:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons is entirely coincidental.

  See? That’s the law talking. You can’t argue with that. So no using this book as an excuse for teenage angst or as blackmail to get us to buy you a flying space car or whatever. By the way, we really hope all this legalese is inspiring you to consider a career in law (or business or medicine). Because as the Ancient Romans used to say, Faber est quisque fortunae suae. Translation: Don’t go into the arts.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  The baby shower

  Prenatal class

  Labor

  Trying not to break you

  Naming you

  Nursing

  The nursery

  She couldn’t drink for nine months

  Visitors

  Mommy and Me movies

  The car seat

  Mommy groups

  She can’t drink drink

  The spa

  Wearing you

  No more pregnancy perks

  She can’t take a sick day

  Sex

  Lack of sleep

  The office visit

  Her hair is falling out

  The in-laws

  Celebrity moms

  Celebrity babies

  Labor in the movies

  Everything makes her cry

  The diaper bag

  Public transportation

  Explosive poo

  You’re sick

  Mommy brain

  Baby Gap

  Plastic toys

  Mommy and Me yoga

  Sleep training

  The family pet

  Ex-boyfriends

  The weather

  TV

  Facebook

  Global warming

  Swim class

  Flying

  Real estate

  She’s asymmetrical

  The growth spurt

  The babysitter

  Diapers

  Nap time

  Hotels

  The laundry

  Home renovations

  The end of maternity leave

  The pump

  The business trip

  Wardrobe

  Disposable income

  Brunch

  Holidays

  The Nanny

  Daddy

  “When are you having a second?”

  Single people

  Bath time

  Meal planning

  You’re a hair puller

  Photography

  The pediatrician

  Baby proofing

  Your first birthday

  Weaning

  Your first haircut

  Sippy cups

  Gadgets

  Teething

  Board books

  Grocery shopping

  Working from home

  9 PM

  The gym membership

  First steps

  Compulsively checking on you while you sleep

  The park

  Accelerated aging

  The stroller

  Sports

  Grandma

  Day care

  Houseguests

  Mommy Fear

  The Playdate

  Children’s music

  Restaurants

  Mornings

  Weddings

  Other kids

  Other Mommies

  Mommy nights out

  Vacations

  You’re growing up too fast

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  INTRODUCTION

  If you’re a new mother reading this, it’s probably 3 AM and your nipples are bleeding. Welcome!

  Even if you’ve been a parent for years or you’re toying with the idea of becoming one, we hope you enjoy this journey through the first eighteen months of new motherhood. It’s a beautiful baby story set to the soft musical notes of Sarah McLachlan, only the exact opposite. No one tells you that on some days you’re going to wonder, What the hell have I done? And then feel all guilty about wondering that. Then, five minutes later, all is bliss again because you see that first newborn smile. Which is gas, but it’s desperate times in those early days so take whatever moments you can get.

  Creative liberties were taken—obviously the section about Grandma is a complete joke and in no way based in fact (cough)—and the drink recipes (while delicious!) should be enjoyed in moderation. You’re a mom now. You have to be the responsible one. You might as well toss your low-cut sequin halter because the days of flirting with the bartender to get your French martini on the house are over. But, good news: Being a mother is the Greatest Job in the World. We promise. It really, really is. Oh, there will still be days that make you want to pack it all in and go Thelma and Louise off a cliff, but those are also the days that yield the comedic gold. We hope you laugh along with us, covered in baby barf, and cherish every moment.

  And by the way, chances are you rock as a mom. Even on the days you feel like you’re failing, you’re probably doing a stellar job. We all go through this. Let’s go through it together.

  With the occasional after-the-kids-have-gone-to-bed cocktail.

  PACIFIER RATING SYSTEM

  Baby brain can make it hard for a mother to figure out what she needs. Cue this handy Pacifier Rating System, set on a scale from one to five for easy reference on how badly the cocktail accompanying ea
ch reason is needed. Note: The rating does not indicate the number of drinks needed, but rather how badly a drink is needed after baby’s bedtime. Mommy is not a hillbilly.

  RATING SCALE

  The drink may be required.

  Or try using Sophie the Giraffe as a stress ball.

  The drink is probably necessary, paired with carbs, chocolate, and threadbare sweatpants.

  The drink is a must. Serve in the least crud-encrusted stemware or sippy cup on hand.

  Something gross was probably sprayed on you.

  Prepare drink immediately. Chase with a hot shower.

  Situation critical! Code Johnnie Walker Red!

  Get a cocktail shaker and an IV line stat!

  The baby shower is a painful rite of passage, cleverly disguised with adorable pink or blue ribbons that later become an embarrassing hat. Well-educated, properly raised, successful women resort to eating baby food, guessing how fat Mommy is, and melting Oh Henry! bars in diapers to simulate poo. The other Mommies in the room share heartwarming labor anecdotes (“I ripped all the way to my asshole!”) while the single girls silently curse the fact that there’s never any booze at these things and make mental notes never to forget to take their birth control again. For some reason, Daddy isn’t subjected to the baby shower, unless you consider a couple of guys from work taking him to Hooters “for the wings” a celebration of your upcoming birth. Mommy really got the raw end (but no raw sushi!) of this deal. Though she is grateful for the generous gifts, she wishes she could have been as tipsy as she was at her bridal shower to help her feign enthusiasm when unwrapping Udderly Smooth: for cracked, bleeding nipples.

  INGREDIENTS

  ½ cup pitted dates

  ½ cup strawberries

  1 cup orange juice

  1 banana

  1½ ounces maple syrup

  INSTRUCTIONS

  Combine all the ingredients with cracked ice in a blender and blend until smooth. Enjoy during Braxton Hicks.

  HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

  Mommy was obviously high on folic acid when she decided to spend her final pre-baby days in a hospital basement, role-playing labor scenarios. The class begins with icebreakers. Mommy’s not sure what’s more uncomfortable: your foot pressing against her bladder or watching Daddy compete for the title of wittiest heckler. The fun and games end when a graphic vaginal birth unfolds before Daddy’s eyes, courtesy of a Betamax tape circa 1977. Mommy suspects Daddy regrets the egg salad sandwich he purchased from the hospital cafeteria, which is confirmed when she sees him swallow a mouthful of vomit. Ooooh, here comes more awkward tomfoolery! The middle-aged instructor drops to the floor to dramatize her own labor experience and contorts her floral-printed palazzo pants into a pretzel-like formation over her head while chanting a Buddhist mantra. Mommy should be taking copious notes about what to do when her first contraction hits, but she’s on a pleasure cruise down a river called De Nial. Fact: She spends a large portion of the class having name fights with Daddy via text. In hindsight, prenatal class was a colossal waste of money as literally nothing about your birth went according to plan. See next entry.

  INGREDIENTS

  5 ounces chilled sparkling nonalcoholic cider

  2 ounces peach nectar

  Splash of lemon juice

  INSTRUCTIONS

  Chill a Champagne flute. Pour in all the ingredients, stir, and enjoy your final days of freedom. You have no idea.

  HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

  After two decades of training cramps, it’s time to put Mommy’s pain tolerance to the ultimate test. The Marathon of Pain begins when Mommy’s water breaks, flooding her Heidi Klum Under Belly leggings and leading her to scream, “Is this actually happening?” as if the excruciating pain consuming her whole body wasn’t clue enough. Meanwhile, the masterful contraction-timing techniques that Daddy picked up from YouTube elude him in the heat of the moment. He does manage to locate the four least important items from Mommy’s extensive hospital packing list before cramming her gargantuan belly into the car. Within five minutes of triage, Mommy’s eighteen-step birth plan (which included barring med students from her vagina and playing Enya on repeat) goes down the drain, as does the goat cheese and mushroom wrap she ate for lunch. Following the advice of her doula, she’s opted for a natural childbirth,* so Mommy screams her way through eight hours of Zero Dark Thirty torture, much to the horror of the entire B wing. At one point, she begs for the epidural, but Daddy gently reminds her of their natural, pharma-free strategy. Mommy tries to murder Daddy with her bare hands. The rest is a complete blackout from her memory, which is apparently nature’s way of ensuring that women procreate again. The truth is that if Mommies could accurately remember and retell the ripping, the spilling of bodily fluids, and the tearing from tip to tail, the whole human race would cease to exist.

  INGREDIENTS

  4 ounces tomato juice

  1 ounce lime juice

  ¼ teaspoon horseradish

  Tabasco sauce to taste

  Worcestershire sauce to taste

  Pinch of salt

  Pinch of freshly ground pepper

  Wedge of lime

  INSTRUCTIONS

  Fill a glass with the tomato and lime juices. Add the horseradish, Tabasco, Worcestershire, salt, and pepper and stir. Garnish with a lime wedge. Serve over ice chips.

  HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

  *

  * To all expectant Moms: Don’t be a hero. Take the drugs. Take the goddamned drugs.

  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 Gra
ndpa 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 sleepins), 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

  Mommy used to furnish her home with the perfect blend of high design and mid-century modern style. But your impending arrival drove her to throw all good taste out the (now flanked by teddy bear curtains) window. This psychotic break in good taste is called nesting, which is appropriate given the number of cutesy bird plush toys now strewn all over this once minimalist den. At first, Mommy had visions of geometric black-and-white sheets, one whimsical Blabla doll handmade in Peru, and a gorgeous Scandinavian rocking chair she saw on Pinterest. Then something terrible happened. She was overcome with the urge to paint the walls a seizure-inducing shade of chartreuse, frame hideously adorable ABC posters, and buy a safari-themed musical mobile that sounds eerily like the theme from A Nightmare on Elm Street. The final nail in the coffin for her dreams of a nursery worthy of Architectural Digest came when she took one look at the price tag of an Oeuf crib. Off to IKEA she went, followed by a shopping spree at Babies “R” Us. According to the twenty-two-year-old receptionist at her ob-gyn office, it’s critical that your nursery has a theme. The theme of your room: Mommy Surrenders.