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.
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.
On the occasion of Mommy’s birthday, Daddy tries to melt away three months of emotional, mental and physical exhaustion with the (previously) fail-safe gift of a day at the spa. Unfortunately, Mommy’s first postnatal spa visit doesn’t quite pan out as planned. First, Mommy’s massage therapist has the misguided notion that Mommy wants to spend her first child-free hour in months answering a continuous stream of questions about labor, when all she wants to do is fantasize about Matt Damon. Mommy’s rejuvenation facial is scored by pan flutes, wind chimes and a lecture about the toll that lack of sleep is taking on the skin around her eyes, delivered by an aesthetician who looks 12. Mommy hasn’t even cracked US Weekly in the post-service tranquility room when Daddy calls with the news that you’ve been wailing incessantly for the past 45 minutes, refusing to take the bottle. Mommy heads immediately to the checkout desk where she’s pressured in her vulnerable postpartum state into dropping $75 on an anti-gravity firming lift cream from France that she’ll find unopened and expired in her bathroom drawer in 2020. As she races uptown at lightning speed, Mommy’s nipples leak all over the steering wheel. Serenity now!
DRINK: Zen Cocktail. 1 oz green tea liqueur, 1/2 oz melon liqueur, 3 oz mango juice, 2 oz cream. Mint leaves and nutmeg for garnish. Shake with ice, strain into a champagne flute and hold your breath for 18 years.
The time has come for Mommy’s mandatory “bring the baby to the office” trip. Mommy carefully scheduled the visit during one of your feeding windows, as her lack of skill with the Hooter Hider would inevitably lead to a traumatic nipple-flashing episode. Mommy’s inbox has been overflowing with emails about how excited everyone is to meet you, although she knows they’re actually just dying to see how much of her baby weight she’s lost. None of her business casual wear fits, so Mommy had to truck it to Banana Republic yesterday to buy a half-price polyester frock she’ll never wear again, and take her hair straightener and MAC Studio Fix out of hiding. Mommy will put on her best “really interested” face as she’s updated on the latest office politics and business results, while secretly dreaming about “The Bachelor” episode waiting on her PVR. As you’re passed around from one colleague to the next, she’ll also try to block out what she recently read about keyboards being five times germier than toilet seats. Mommy really hopes you don’t cry, unless it’s when she’s caught in conversation with that guy from accounting who can’t read social cues.
DRINK: The 7-Day Weekend. ½ oz pineapple rum, ½ oz light rum, 6 oz 7 Up. Enjoy over ice in a chilled cocktail glass the next time you feel like celebrating the fact that you can wear pajamas 24/7.
Some women at Mommy Group complain that their babies are not sleeping through the night. “My Liam wakes up once in a 12-hour period! We’re going to have to hire a Night Doula.” What. The. Fuck. Not only will you not sleep through the night, you’re up every 2 hours. Mommy has been forced to replace actual restorative shuteye with caffeine and carbs. She was going to max out an RESP so you could go to Harvard, but at $10 a pop for a Venti and an artisanal cheese scone, it looks like you’ll be going to the University of (*shudder*) Windsor. To add insult to injury, after desperately attempting to nurse you to sleep last night, you puked Linda Blair style down her threadbare Bravado bra. Mommy was too exhausted to do anything about it, so she spent the night in someone else’s vomit. Memories of Cancun circa 2001.
DRINK: Mexican Coffee. 1 oz Kaluha, ½ oz Tequila, 5 oz coffee. Serve hot and steamy just like that night on the beach with Ernesto. Or was it Todd? Not important. Vacation flings don’t count toward your “number”.