Mommy has never spent more time at the mall then she has while on maternity leave. The irony of this is that Mommy has never been more broke and she can’t afford to buy anything. However, she can’t resist falling into Baby GAP. Her maternity benefits barely cover a Raspberry Rush from Jugo Juice, but it will cover this argyle sweater vest with skull and cross bones embroidery. A bear riding a motorcycle? On a onesie? Clearly you need to own this. Oooh little shoes! Mommy will take several pairs because you can’t walk yet so that makes perfect sense. Mommy’s closet looks like the “before” segment on What Not To Wear but your wardrobe could grace the pages of Bébé Vogue. Perhaps Mommy should feel bad that children not much older than you made these clothes but when the price tag reads $19.99 and there’s an additional 30% thanks to the online coupon, ring it up!
DRINK: The Memory GAP. Drink more than one of these and that’s what you’ll have. ½ oz cherry brandy, ½ oz light rum, ½ oz dark rum, 3 oz grapefruit juice, 1 oz orange juice, splash of grenadine. Serve over crushed ice.
One day in biology class you’ll learn that animals are attracted to other animals who display good symmetry (which the brain apparently equates with good genes and the production of healthy offspring.) What’s not taught in school is how the story ends: male courts female, they reproduce, and the female is robbed of the very thing that attracted her mate in the first place. Exhibit A: Mommy’s rack. The wonders of uneven milk supply mean Mommy’s right breast is a glorious double D, while her lowly left could play peek-a-boo(b) under a Hershey’s kiss wrapper. Exhibit B: Mommy’s arms. From holding you exclusively on one side for the better part of a year, Mommy’s left bicep could grace the cover of “MuscleMag”, while her right would lose to an Olsen twin in an arm wrestle. And Mommy obviously missed the part in What to Expect where it explained that your organs shift during pregnancy and then “more or less” go back to their original pre-pregnancy positions, although she did take note of Mother Nature’s generous baby shower gift of both stretch marks and spider veins. Good thing Daddy is attracted to Mommy for more than her looks. Like the sunny disposition that greets him when he comes home from work 15 minutes late. Oh wait.
DRINK: Live vicariously through your drink with a “Sexy Devil”. 1 oz vodka. 1/2 oz cranberry-flavoured vodka. 1/2 oz dry vermouth. Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a fresh strawberry and a lemon peel. Note: best consumed while avoiding mirrors.
Mommy used to only really care about the environment when people were there to judge her. Of course she put her Diet Coke can in the office blue bin and it’s not like she was eating baby panda for breakfast but going out of her way to buy a car that runs on sunshine and hugs wasn’t high on her list of priorities. Since you’ve been born, however, she is struck by just how shitty we’ve been treating our planet. It’s a real buzz kill to actually watch the YouTube video of Gordon Ramsay’s shark fin soup exposé or discover via Twitter the ozone is so fucked that we’re all going to look like the cast of The Jersey Shore soon. If the North Pole melts and all Santa’s reindeer drowned in a flashflood, she’s pretty sure that will ruin your childhood. No longer can Mommy turn a blind eye to Mother Earth: Special Victims Unit. However, Mommy draws the eco-line at cloth diapers. After the toxic warfare that came out of you this morning, she’s buying Pampers.
DRINK: Organic local wine. Feel great about your headache the next day. The more throbbing it is, the more you did your part for the environment.
Mommy longs for the days when birthday parties involved bypassing the line at Devil’s Martini, dancing on speakers, doing Polar Bear shooters, and puking in a cab on the way home. Now, as adult birthdays fade into oblivion, only to emerge once a decade tainted with flamingos, “over-the-hill” cards and awkward-for-everyone mooning incidents, birthday parties have come to be about sacrificing your afternoon nap every other Saturday to witness the ultimate battle for gold in the Mommylympic games. Mommy can barely pull off buying a birthday gift on your behalf that doesn’t look recycled and dressing you in something that isn’t encrusted in puréed sweet potato, while the mother of the birthday girl has managed to bake a tiered princess cake from scratch, hand make customized party favours and send out thematic invitations by mail, weeks in advance. Mommy is banking on the limitations of your one-year-old memory as she fills out Evite’s first birthday party template, and orders two party-sized pepperoni pizzas and a $19.98 grocery-store cake the night before your big day.
DRINK: Confetti. 4 oz unsweetened cherry cider, 1 oz almond syrup, 1 apple, 1 pear, 1 peach. Combine with ice in a blender and blend until smooth. Consume while doing internal cartwheels that you’re not in labor today.
Pre-baby, Facebook was fun. Post-baby, Facebook is hell. The status updates from the non-baby crew are: Exotic travel! References to music! Checked-in at hipster pizzeria slash tequila bar! Mommy longs for the days where she was part of that elite crew who put their night back together through tagged photos and foursquare. And what the fuck is “Pinterest”? Mommy can’t keep up. The status updates from the baby-crew are: My baby! Don’t you love my profile pic that’s of my baby! Check out another upload of my baby! Below the photo there are comments from other parents about how cute the baby is, followed by many exclamation points. Mommy only wishes she could post what everyone’s really thinking: that kid ain’t right. Hey look, Mommy has a friend request! Sadly, it’s Insert Baby’s Name Here’s Mom from playgroup (Ignore). After commenting on a link to the latest OK Go video in an effort to project an image that she’s still cool, Mommy was tagged covered in regurgitated rice cereal at Rainbow Songs. Mommy’s status update: feeling as relevant as MySpace (wait, three friends “like” this?).
DRINK: The Friend Request. 5oz sparkling wine, 1oz raspberry vodka, splash of Chambord. Garnish with fresh berries and enjoy the instant friends you make when you serve it.
In the latest installment of “Mommy is Essentially a Talking Barn Animal,” the time has come to wean you. Weaning is the universe’s way of telling Mommy that the party is officially over. “Oh, you’re going back to work now? Fine. Time to hand over that free boob job you’ve been enjoying. Oh, and don’t forget to pick up your period on your way out.” If busting out her 32B bra collection (circa La Senza 2007) wasn’t punishment enough, Mommy also has to deal with Daddy’s gloating about the fact that she can no longer use breastfeeding as leverage. At least she’s got period cramps to fall back on. Mommy hereby promises to never be judgy about mothers who breastfeed their school-aged children again. Keep the party goin’ and the liquid a-flowin’ sisters!
DRINK: The Mad Cow. 3 oz Milk. 1/2 oz Coffee liqueur. 1/2 oz Hazelnut liqueur. 1/2 oz Vodka. 1/2 oz Irish Cream. Combine all ingredients into a shaker with ice. Serve in a glass lined with chocolate syrup and top mixture with whipped cream. Now scrape off all that whipped cream because you’re no longer burning 500 calories a day. Grrrrrr.
Mommy used to kill it when it came to cardio – she could spin for an hour and still look adorable enough to flirt with Braedon the 26 year old trainer slash man candy. The gym was a social place and Mommy was on the A list – that “A” stood for Ass and hers was tight. Now Mommy does Baby-friendly yoga. This is not a workout, but an excuse to drop $20 to do one Downward Dog and spend the other 43 minutes in a Circle Bitch about sleep training. Mommy is still hyper-competitive, only now it’s over whose baby is doing what first. Mommy has actually pushed you to do things you’re not ready for, like propping you up to sitting then feigning surprise when you promptly toppled over and bashed your head on a yoga block. The 4 calories burned trying to keep the snot-covered communal toys out of your mouth during class is quickly erased by the post-namaste trip to the Fair Trade coffee shop where a carob-chip spelt cookie packs a whopping 17 grams of fat. Mommy may now live in her Lulus, but she has a feeling the rear view isn’t the same.
DRINK: The Skinny Bitch. Remember when you used to be one? 5oz Diet Coke, 1 oz vodka and a squeeze of fresh lime. Only 56 calories.
Mommy-to-be was all holier than thou with her “We will only buy non-toxic, eco-friendly wooden toys made from local Amish people for our little angel” declarations, made while downing her grande non-fat low foam decaf latte with 2 pumps of hazelnut syrup. Now you’re not even a year old, and her house looks like Fisher Price threw up its entire 2011 catalogue on her 10 by 12 foot living room floor. Mommy can run but she definitely can’t hide from the rainbow-coloured explosion of plastic toys from China that’s invaded every corner of her home. Yesterday, Mommy even spotted a shard of plastic nestled in your dirty diaper. Besides worrying about the long-term effects of the polyutherane you’re ingesting, Mommy is too embarrassed by her hypocrisy to invite anyone over for play dates anymore. And leaving the house to socialize is too overwhelming with the chronic headache she’s developed from all the off-gassing.
DRINK: China White. ½ oz white crème de cacao, ½ oz vodka, ½ oz Irish cream, served over ice with a splash of milk. Top with a dash of cinnamon.