This is a great piece from the New York Times about the responsibilities of being a mother. One responsibility in particular — the sobriety part. It’s kind of a buzz kill. My favorite is the last paragraph (which I will quote here, for those of you who don’t have time to follow the link on a beautiful Friday afternoon)
“So it’s not the alcohol I miss. It’s the immaturity. The selfishness. The wasted days frittered away recuperating from the wasted nights. It all turned around so quickly. I wasn’t prepared to be this person. A person who can clearly recall all the events of the night before. Who can be the designated driver. Who can go to a work party without apologizing the next day. This must be parenthood. I would toast this milestone, but I have pears to puree.”
I was actually just thinking to myself the other day that I would like to be depressed. And then I kicked myself — what? Why in the world would I like to be sad? I realized that it wasn’t the being sad part that I wanted, but rather the excuse to lie in bed under the covers and pamper myself. Once I realized that even if I were depressed, I would never be able to sit around feeling sorry for myself ever again because I have a small person to take care of, the allure of depression faded quickly. But being hungover accomplishes the same thing, with a much more fun cause. Plus there’s all that hangover food — Taco Bell and McDonalds that somehow doesn’t seem wrong. I ate a Quarter Pounder with cheese yesterday on my way home from a late program, and I decided that eating at McDonald’s is like having sex with your ex-boyfriend: you know you shouldn’t, but it feels so good. But, then immediately afterwards, the self-loathing begins.
But, I digress. If you have kids, read the article — I bet you’ll relate. Unless you were a real stick in the mud beforehand, too. If you don’t have kids, read the article — hopefully it will help you understand why I can’t make it to happy hour on a Tuesday, but you’ll understand that I really do want to. I’ll have a very small glass over some goldfish crackers in your honor.
Kelli -
Is it wrong that this is the reason I couldn’t adopt a dog? I swear to God, I’ll never be a parent at this rate. Seriously? No lounge time? No “god, it’s been three hours and I haven’t left the couch?” I’m destined to be forever single (with excellent recall of The West Wing…)
Sal