Mommy had barely issued your birth announcement when people started asking her when she was going to give you a little brother or sister. And now that your first birthday has come and gone, Mommy can’t go a day without being confronted with the question. It comes from all directions: in-laws, colleagues, some random middle-aged guy in the Starbucks line, and it’s almost always accompanied by unsolicited advice about the importance of perfectly timing the age difference between siblings (according to the latest perspective on the subject from a totally credible news source like msn.com or Tori Spelling’s twitter feed.) But the question most often comes from other new Mommies, disguised as actual interest in Mommy’s life, but truly a cry for help along the lines of: “If I’m going down this miserable road again, this time with toddler in tow, you better the hell be coming along with me!” And even worse than the questions are the prying eyes, scanning Mommy’s mid-section for clues (*Sigh* Mommy only wishes that was a baby
bump…) and monitoring her wine consumption at social events, forcing her to make a big production of pouring herself a third glass of Cabernet which then haunts her the next morning when you wake up at 5 a.m.
DRINK: One-hit wonder. A shot of vodka over ice, consumed while listening to the sweet sounds of Deee-lite, Take That or Vanilla Ice. Whoever said “the more, the merrier” never endured 9 months of pregnancy.
Sure, there are a lot of things Mommy doesn’t miss about being pregnant. Like heartburn, cankles, and three months spent hugging the toilet bowl. But pregnancy definitely had its rewards. Aside from the 40 pounds of extra weight around her mid section, Mommy-to-be was a spitting image of a Victoria Secret model thanks to her no-leak double D rack, luscious locks and hormone-charged glow. And armed with her “baby brain” pass, she never had to sweat forgetting a best friend’s birthday or saying something stupid in a really important meeting. But, now that you’re born, Mommy no longer walks on water and she’s finding it hard to cope as yesterday’s news. She’s wondering why all the nice strangers who used to run to her expectant side to open doors for her are always MIA when she’s struggling to jam your SUV-sized stroller through the tiny non-automated Starbucks doorway without spilling half her extra hot latte on your lap. And the world could now care less whether you’re a boy or a girl, they just want to know what Mommy’s done to make you scream so loudly. Recently, Mommy’s even caught herself longing for the unsolicited belly strokes that used to make her throw up in her mouth a little. Now she has only your dirty diapers to thank for that.
DRINK: Break out your maternity jeggings and a basketball and enjoy a Cranberry and Soda, for old time’s sake.