Confession: I Give My Baby Alcohol

I give my baby alcohol.  On a regular basis.

(Did I just hear everyone’s jaw hit the floor?  Excellent!  Mission: Shock the Masses was a success!)

Now that I have your attention, let me tell you the rest of the story –

My 18-month-old son loves me SO much that he wants to taste everything that I drink.  Since I’m a CPA, I drink wine or beer probably three to four evenings a week.  No sooner do I open that beer or pour that glass of wine but my little guy toddles over to me and says “Mmm, mmm, mmm” expectantly, dancing from one foot to the other, barely containing his impatience.  If I don’t get the message right away, he’ll reach up for me and say “P” (translation: up).

Once I pick him up and put him in my lap, I have to be on my toes because he will LUNGE for my glass, arm outstretched.  We haven’t had any party fouls (i.e. spilled drinks) yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

So what do I do?  I dip my pinky in my glass, get just a little droplet on my finger, and  put it in his mouth to let him taste it.  And he doesn’t hate it, which really kinda blows my mind.  But he doesn’t throw a fit when I tell him that’s all he gets, so that’s good.

At this point he usually loses interest in me, slides himself down off my lap, and goes off in search of something to throw / bang / push across the floor / eat off the floor.

And that’s it!  Not so terrible after all, eh?

*  *  *  *  *

This confession is brought to you by Athena’s Antics. Pop on over and say hello!

To submit your own confession, check out The Confessional page.

Shake, Sway, Sip, Repeat

I shake and I sway and I rock. There are centipedes crawling off with my skin. The woman who just walked by walked much too close. The dishes will all break if I attempt to do them and they’ll probably cut me. Now I want to run the blade across my skin and do it myself. The tears come and I dig my teeth into my pen to stop them. They must be stopped or they’ll sting my centipede skin.

I shake and I sway and I rock. My mind is droopy but my eyes are wide and everything they take in terrifies me. My legs run off with themselves and the pills keep piling up but the centipedes continue their march and the woman continues to walk too close and the dishes continue to make my eyes produce wetness. So I take a sip.

I shake and I sway and I sip. Until the sips turn into swigs and the swigs turn into gulps and the gulps turn into the bottom of a bottle.

I stop shaking, I stop swaying, I stop rocking and I stop sipping. For once, I am still.

I sleep.

Tomorrow I will do it all again. I will try to refrain, but I will shake and sway and rock.

And sip.

On Drinking and Guilt

I had a drink the other night, like I have so many times before. But this time it was to help me sleep — it wasn’t unprompted. Which is worse?

I had two drinks the other night, like I have so many times before. But this time it was for a reason; it was to help with my anxiety — it wasn’t just a nightcap. Is one better?

I had three drinks the other day, because I just wanted to. There was no reason, no purpose. Is that okay?

I have a drink in my hand currently. I can’t seem to sleep without it. I should be asleep already. This isn’t good.

via Simone Berna / Flickr (CC BY 2.0) (Cropped & text replaced)

via Simone Berna / Flickr (CC BY 2.0) (Cropped & text replaced)

Continue reading

Why Drinking Alone is Awesome

Drinking alone is taboo. Drinking at all is taboo for me. But last night I caved and bought some wine coolers (I was craving beer but those Pineapple Smirnoff are just so good) mainly because my anxiety has been out of control and I just wanted to relax. So yeah, I self-medicated. After one Smirnoff I passed out so obviously it worked.


The thing is, Jack decided to have a few drinks with me. On my wine cooler run I also got him a bottle of rum. So, I guess, he had this idea in his head of how the night would go and my impromptu snoring was not part of his plan.

I don’t exactly know what was part of his plan, but I could sense the disappointment as I vaguely heard him ask if I was going to sleep last night, and again this morning when I realized he had posted on Facebook quite a few times about having a bad day, drinking alone, and wanting company. My drooling self was not cutting it.

All of this made me realize just how freeing drinking alone is. You may think it’s a sign of alcoholism, I say it’s a sign that you’re in control. For example:

Continue reading

When Did It Become Cool To Be An Alcoholic?

I don’t get it. But it’s been happening for as long as I can remember. I’m pretty sure even I did it during my teenage years.

People everywhere are claiming to be in addiction’s grasp. Only they’re not.

It seems it’s now cool to be an alcoholic. Or, at least pretend to be one.

You know what I’m talking about. When your friend posts a photo of herself enjoying a mojitio before noon (one time) and is all, “Oh Em Gee I am such an alcoholic! Hehehe!”

When your brother tells you not to fuck with him when he gets home from work because he hasn’t had his beer and he is such an alcoholic.

When college kids who party too much, by their own choosing, make excuses for their actions by saying “Ugh, I’m just such an alcoholic.”

No. No you’re not. None of you are alcoholics. People who are alcoholics usually don’t brag about it.

Continue reading