INGREDIENTS
1 ounce crème de cacao
1 ounce crème de menthe
Splash of milk
INSTRUCTIONS
Fill a glass with ice. Pour in all the ingredients and stir. Enjoy after 8 PM but before 9 PM lest you turn into a sleep-deprived gremlin the next day.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
During a moment of postpartum weakness, Mommy was seduced by a sandwich board outside the local fitness club advertising low membership fees without any initiation charges or commitments. She was also seduced by the club’s free “child care” (translation: one exhausted Russian woman and thirty-eight kids running amok in a room smaller, hotter, and germier than the sauna). Later examination of the contract’s fine print revealed that Mommy had signed her life away for a free T-shirt, but she was willing to overlook the management’s questionable ethics for a chance at scoring the body gracing the promotional flyer. Fast-forward: she’s been to the gym exactly twice since your birth and the only thing more painful than walking the next day was the realization that each visit cost her $765. Mommy knows that investing that money in her 401(k) could be her ticket to retiring in Bali. But she’s plagued by the fear that throwing in her gym towel could be the gateway to a low-maintenance haircut or buying Crocs. Yes, Mommy is exhausted and time starved, and hasn’t picked up an issue of InStyle since her first trip to Motherhood Maternity, but if her annual donation to the gym is the price she needs to pay to keep her quest for rock-hard abs alive, Mommy is silencing her inner Suze Orman and holding on to the dream, dammit!
NOTE
0.5% beer. Another way to not get ripped.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
If never missing an episode of Full House taught Mommy anything, it’s that first steps must be captured on film. Back in 1994, this meant recording the moment on a massive camcorder, which Uncle Jesse scored with an original ballad. Today this means archiving the milestone with a slickly edited iMovie cut to Mumford & Sons. As you took your first tentative steps, Mommy’s heart swelled with pride. Now it swells with fear. Gone are the days of leaving you in your recalled Bumbo while she “prepared” dinner (read: tossed a frozen pizza in the oven). Walking means you can literally go from 0 to Crashing Through the Screen Door in mere moments. If Hermès made a baby leash she would buy it, but she just can’t subject you to the Baby Sherpa Safe2Go Harness fashion blunder. Mommy is already worried that Child Protective Services is going to be called, thanks to the permanent bruise on your forehead from careening into everything. Plus, now that you can walk, your favorite activities include opening every drawer looking for stabby things and going on scavenger hunts for choking hazards. As her eyes fill with tears while you teeter on wobbly knees, Mommy has the distinct feeling that as a teenager, you’re going to walk all over her.
INGREDIENTS
1 ounce Johnnie Walker
2 ounces lemonade
2 ounces Red Bull
Wedge of lime
INSTRUCTIONS
Run, don’t walk, to the freezer and fill a glass with ice. Pour in the Johnnie Walker, lemonade, and Red Bull. Garnish with a lime wedge.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
It took forty-five minutes to get you down. It takes forty-five seconds for Mommy to think something has gone wrong.
MOMMY: Do you think the baby’s okay?
DADDY: Yes. Do not go back in there. Seriously. Can we please just watch Duck Dynasty?
Daddy doesn’t understand Mommy Intuition, which he calls Craziness. She says she’s just going to listen outside your door, but really she’s going on a stealth mission back into your room. Thanks to the baby blackout blinds she can’t see if your chest is rising. Nor can she see the Melissa & Doug puzzle piece on the floor, which impales Mommy. She screams internally and, by some miracle, manages not to wake you. Since she’s as blind as Snooki’s stylist, she tries to listen for your breath. The plush lamb emitting whale sounds (face palm for another toy that will cause you to lag in science) is masking any snores of life. Instead of turning down the orca sheep, she decides it’s time to Freak Out and Panic. She frantically grabs you and starts screaming your name. This instantly reveals you’re very much alive. Having been woken up from a peaceful slumber by an insane person, you’re terrified and bawling your eyes out. Hooray! It’s going to be another hour to get you down again, and now she’ll never know what the hell Duck Dynasty is, but she will repeat this process until you go off to college. At which point she’ll continually use all technology available to embarrass you and ensure you’re safe.
INGREDIENTS
1 ounce vodka
½ ounce triple sec
1 ounce pomegranate juice
Splash of lime juice
Zest of orange
INSTRUCTIONS
Fill a glass with ice. Pour in the vodka, triple sec, and pomegranate and lime juices and stir. Garnish with the orange zest.
NOTE
Pairs beautifully with a state-of-the-art baby monitor, complete with LCD night vision and false alarms that will cause you to have several mini–heart attacks.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
When Mommy loads up the stroller with enough crap to open a Babies “R” Us, it means it’s time to go to the park. Mommy brought wholesome, organic snacks, but the first thing you do is eat sand. Mmm, notes of raccoon pee. Also, she forgot to pack your hat, which, according to the Unspoken Rules of Parenting, is the equivalent of leaving you outside naked in a snowstorm. At the playground, parenting shortcomings never go unnoticed. Flanked by Stepford Wives who whisper their disapproval and a gaggle of nannies who openly discuss it in a foreign language, Mommy is living an Orwellian existence. At least this means there are lots of other kids for you to play with/catch illnesses from. Including Terror Toddler. Mommy suppresses her inner Jerry Springer and tries not to freak out when this bully-in-training shoves you, snatches your pail, and comes dangerously close to blinding you with a shovel. Who is this kid’s parent? Oh, it’s Weekend Dad, who is busy texting last night’s piece of strange on his hip-holstered Android. Mommy decides to give Terror Toddler a pass, since that kid is going to be filled with self-loathing (and pharmaceuticals) in about a dozen years. Meanwhile, Mommy gets her cardio burn on by chasing you backward up a slide, moving you out of the way of big kids on swings, and catching you from falling off the playground stairs. At least she no longer feels guilty about her lapsed gym membership. Speaking of exercise, now Weekend Dad is doing chin-ups on the monkey bars to impress the local MILFs. Maybe he should spend more time on his parenting skills and less time on his upper-body strength since Terror Toddler is currently aiming a Super Soaker at a sleeping newborn. Oh, the park, where nature and nurture come together to bitch-slap each other in the face.
INGREDIENTS
3 ounces lemon juice
2 teaspoons raw sugar
1 ounce light rum
Sprig of fresh basil
INSTRUCTIONS
Rim a glass with some of the lemon juice, then raw sugar—or with the sand that will permanently be tracked into your house—and fill the glass with ice. Pour in the rum, and the rest of the lemon juice and raw sugar, and stir. Garnish with the basil.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
Like the cast of Days of Our Lives, for years Mommy managed to evade the hands of time. Until recently, looking in the bathroom mirror with the dimmer switch fully engaged was like staring at a spitting image of her high-school self (excluding the Sun-In spray damage and fashion crimes involving flannel). But in recent months, the pace at which she’s burning through under-eye concealer is giving her hot flashes. Thankfully, Daddy is also aging at the speed of a time-lapse photography sequence in Planet Earth. In the most recent round of family portraits, he was a dead ringer for Nick Nolte’s infamous mug shot. The next time Mommy impulsively buys a photo package on Groupon, she’ll make sure it includes retouching. The sad state of Mommy’s skin shouldn’t come as much of a s
urprise, given chronic sleep deprivation and drinking one’s weight in coffee once again evaded Glamour’s “Top 5 Anti-Aging Secrets” feature this year. And Mommy has spent about as much time tending to her eye area since your birth as she has to understanding the crisis in Syria. Of course you’re more than worth every postnatal wrinkle, line, and adult acne scar; Mommy just wishes that on the days when she felt as incompetent as anyone on Teen Mom, she at least looked the part.
INGREDIENTS
1 cup frozen blueberries
1 cup frozen raspberries
1 ounce pomegranate juice
1 peach, peeled, pitted, and cubed
1 apple, peeled, cored, and cubed
2 cups fresh spinach
2 cups water
INSTRUCTIONS
Combine all the ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth.
NOTE
Loaded with antioxidants, this drink’s your best shot at one day being carded again and still being able to register excitement on your face when it happens.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
When you’re sixteen and you ask Mommy to help you buy your first set of wheels, Mommy will explain that she already blew way too much cash in that department before you turned sixteen weeks. And that doesn’t include all the money she’s burned on the forty-three accessories purchased to pimp your ride, including cup holders, an arctic foot muff, and a sun hood now covered in Mommy’s blood from jamming her finger when she collapsed the stroller for the first time. Nor does it factor in the replacement cost of the countless Robeez shoes, orthodontic pacifiers, and Sophie the Giraffes that you’ve left littered throughout the neighborhood because your favorite game is launching things overboard and seeing if Mommy notices. (Which she usually doesn’t because she’s too busy apologizing to other pedestrians for completely monopolizing the sidewalk and/or running over their small dogs.) While Daddy loves talking hydraulics, shocks, and turning radius, Mommy is still haunted by the image of the Bugaboo’s price tag. For what they paid that day, Mommy assumed she was wheeling away a magical carriage that would fulfill your every need. Unfortunately, it turns out that a cavalcade of strollers is required: one that’s lightweight for navigating the city, one for travel that collapses to the size of an umbrella like a scene out of The Jetsons, and even one that Mommy’s expected to push while jogging through the city (this one is collecting dust next to her Reebok EasyTone kicks). Then you learned to walk. Now placing you in a stroller of any kind elicits shrieks so bloodcurdling that Mommy regularly checks the seat for sharp objects. Your newfound mobility brings tears to Mommy’s eyes—you’re all grown up and now it takes forty-five minutes to travel a half block. Wahh!
INGREDIENTS
1 ounce vodka
1 ounce blue curaçao
3 ounces lemon-lime soda
INSTRUCTIONS
Fill a glass with ice. Pour in all the ingredients and stir. Serve with a line of credit.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
Though Mommy was never all that into watching sports, seeing six-packs in high def used to be great motivation to hit the gym the next day. Plus, from the Stanley Cup to the Super Bowl, watching Daddy get all emotionally charged during a playoff game was seriously sexy. But thanks to Mommy’s fragile postpartum emotional state, she can barely watch a Cheez Whiz commercial without crying, let alone the next Olympic Games. She’s not sure if it’s the human interest stories behind these global sporting events that get to her (which always involve some combination of a deceased war hero, a devastating knee injury, and a village fire) or the fact that it’s now too late to chase her own athletic dreams (confirmed last week when she pulled a hamstring peeling herself off the couch to microwave a Lean Cuisine). Though at least Mommy feels like she already walked in an Olympian’s shoes during her pregnancy, thanks to the dietary restrictions, toting around a shot put for nine months, and a medal-worthy performance in the delivery room. More likely it’s because she can’t help but wonder if you’ll one day grace the cover of Sports Illustrated or stand on a podium in front of an audience of billions as she beams with pride from the sidelines. Daddy seems to have also pegged the family’s dreams of going pro on you, convinced that an Ivy League scholarship is already in the bag. Mommy secretly wonders if he’s reading too much into the “early signs of promise” he’s witnessed in you during mealtime, like repeatedly throwing your fusilli at the wall.
INGREDIENTS
½ ounce vodka
½ ounce triple sec
3 ounces pureed mango
2 ounces orange juice
Splash of lime
Wedge of lime
INSTRUCTIONS
Combine all the ingredients in an ice-filled glass and stir. Garnish with a lime wedge.
NOTE
Victory never tasted so sweet.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
Your grandma means well, but she’s driving Mommy up the (now permanently stained) wall. Apparently, in Grandma’s day, children didn’t cry, poo, vomit, or do anything other than look like Gerber Baby models. Maybe that’s because babies had a pretty good buzz going from the brandy being smeared on their gums. Grandma keeps clearing her throat any time Mommy tries to do anything, which means “You’re doing it wrong.” Even what Mommy dresses you in is up for scrutiny, like the time she put you in a skull-and-crossbones Onesie from Baby Gap (“Is that a gang shirt? He’ll turn to drugs!”). When you were born, she thought Grandma would want to spend time with you so Mommy could nap or shower, or at least pee with the bathroom door closed. But instead Grandma only wanted to hold you when you were sleeping. Mommy still needs Grandma’s validation, so she let her feed you meat when you were only three months old (“In my day, babies ate liverwurst sandwiches to build immunity!”) and bites her tongue when she gives you inappropriate toys (“It says ‘for ages 10 and up,’ but how else will the baby learn about sharp edges?”). After never quite outgrowing the scars of her teenage years, Mommy vows to be nothing like Grandma in her parenting choices. However, after catching herself about to chastise you for playing with a color wheel instead of an abacus, she’s already started on the rapid descent into her worst nightmare: becoming her mother.
INGREDIENTS
1 ounce Dubonnet Rouge
1 ounce gin
Dash of orange bitters (Or Trop 50)
INSTRUCTIONS
Combine all the ingredients in an ice-filled glass and stir.
NOTE
These are ingredients most likely found in Grandma’s house, and if you’re there, you’ll need a drink immediately.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
Alphabet Academy might as well be SoHo House for all the favors Mommy had to call in to snag you a coveted spot in its toddler room. You didn’t even have a name (or known gender, as you were the size of an acorn) when Mommy got you spot 256 on the waiting list back when TomKat was still topical. In fact, admission is so competitive that the day care administrator was only the second person (five minutes after Daddy) to find out Mommy was pregnant. Now, more than two years later and just as Mommy was about to take a cue from Indecent Proposal to seal the deal once and for all, the day care finally called to confirm your acceptance. Of course, upon hearing the news, other Mommies felt compelled to share unsolicited warnings about the relentless colds and infections that will be inflicted on you, not to mention Mommy and Daddy, for the next year. Mommy refused to believe the haters, until she got the call that you were being sent home with a fever. On day three. Mommy has since had to miss seven two workdays this year (hooray for creative time-sheeting!). Mommy truly believes that the structured environment and socialization of day care will benefit you in the long run, but the days when she has to kiss your wet cheeks good-bye at the rainbow-painted door are The Worst.
INGREDIENTS
1 ounce Cognac
1 ounce light rum
4 ounces orange juice
Zest of orange
INSTRUCTIONS
NOTE
Numb your guilt, kill germs, and boost your immune system all at once with this triple-duty cocktail.
HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK
Mommy loves seeing her out-of-town friends and relatives. She just wishes it was through the window of the local Hilton. She’s still getting used to sharing her tiny space with the entire contents of Babies “R” Us, let alone a family of four and their five-piece Samsonite set. On the day of their arrival, Mommy is forced to spend your coveted nap time Googling family-friendly tourist activities in the area while silently wondering why people on vacation temporarily lose their ability to access the World Wide Web. By day two, the new hardwood floors are covered in scratches from your cousin’s counterfeit Thomas the Tank Engine. Mommy should have just gone for Berber. Unfortunately, single houseguests are equally challenging with their oblivion to the choking hazards they leave strewn around the house and their back-to-back social events. Your 6 AM wake-up comes all too soon for Mommy’s former college roommate, who noisily made her drunken entrance just an hour earlier following a night on the town to which Mommy was not invited. It’s almost as if “I want to spend time with you and your baby” was code for “I want to use your house as a place to store my luggage while I hook up with my ex-boyfriend.” Mommy and Daddy are forced to play the Let’s Be Quiet game with you in the confines of the basement until she rolls out of bed at noon. At which time she throws up in the kitchen sink, blaming it on the smell of your dirty diapers and not last night’s tequila shots. No matter who comes to stay, the house is always depleted of food and cleanliness by the visit’s end. As Mommy puts yet another load of sheets into the wash, she actually toys with the idea of having another child sooner than later just so there’s no longer a spare bedroom.
Reasons Mommy Drinks Page 8
