Beer & Babies

Running errands is part of my job description as a stay-at-home mom. Going to the grocery store, the pharmacy, the post office...it's what I do on a daily basis, semi efficiently, infant car seat slung over one arm, overstuffed purse resembling Mary Poppin's carpet bag over the other, toddler tripping alongside me, strands of hair in my face, spasms in my back. On this particular day I was less one child and reveling in the fact that I could precariously balance Ana's car seat in the mini cart provided at Rite Aid, therefore allowing me the use of BOTH hands, pick up a prescription and buy beer all in one store. I happily emerged from the store with a cold twelve pack and a sleeping baby. Hallelujah!
This is where my luck turned. I positioned the cart on the sidewalk next to the building, my first mistake. In an attempt to avoid disturbing the sleeping baby, I stepped down into the parking lot to load the 12 pack into my car first (can we say, priorities?), mistake #2. As I gently eased the icy cold beers onto the back seat I heard the rattle of my cart traveling across the sidewalk and turned just in time to watch the front wheels careen off the curb (remember the key words, "precariously balanced"). I bolted towards her and caught the car seat before it fell from the speeding cart.
Okay, no harm, no foul, now look around for an audience. Phew, thank god I parked on the side lot where no one noticed my negligence. You better believe I was ready for that beer by the time I arrived home. Holy hell.


The Confessional

Heavenly Father, it has been 13 months, 3 days and 6 hours since my last hangover. No, I'm not a recovering alcoholic, just a girl who's been knocked up a few times in the last 4 years and missed out on celebrating her birthday one too many times. Don't worry, I made up for it this year with some bubbles, red wine, and in last night's case, a few vodka martinis and a buttery nipple (don't ask).
Thirty one years old, two kids, one hot husband, and a fair amount of wrinkles to show for it all. Last year I spent my birthday 4 months pregnant, gassy and nauseous, sitting in a restaurant picking at my food while my husband downed a bottle of great Syrah and let me drive him home. Year 29 was celebrated in an airport on my way to South America for my father-in-law's birthday trip, woopee. Yep, the last time I was drunk was the night I got pregnant with my second daughter. Let's hope I didn't make the same mistake last night! That would be another 40 weeks of penance. Shit.