I’ve always wanted to win an award and it seems my time has come.
Forget running for Mother of the Year. You and your homemade muffins can shoot for that prestigious honour. I’ll be over here in my track pants running for the Mother of the Beer award.
And I’m going to win.
It has been a long time since I’ve had a lick of alcohol. Between back-to-back pregnancies and a stint of nursing, it seems prohibition was in full affect around these parts. But after the birth of Beast Two a few short weeks ago, Husband and I decided it was time to lift the ban. As it turns out, Beast Two’s birthday coincides nicely with my own birthday, so as a mini celebration, Husband suggested we get some beer.
The deal was, if we got both beasts to bed and asleep at roughly the same time, he’d split a beer with me. (Stop laughing. I’m a light weight now.) I was unsure what kind I wanted, so Husband purchased a variety while the beasts and I waited in the car. He came out with a huge paper bag full of different beers. I was so excited. On the way home, I figured I might as well get a giant cappuccino since I’ve been deprived in the caffeine department too.
Beast Two was born by C-section. This means I cannot lift Beast One for six weeks as he’s over the 10lb weight limit. I also cannot lift Beast Two when he’s in his car seat. As we pulled in the driveway from our liquor store run, Husband instructed me to simply carry the bag of beer. Just carry the bag of beer. That’s it. That’s all I had to do. He would carry both beasts into the house. So with my giant coffee in one hand, and a huge paper bag of booze in the other, I began the journey as the ‘postpartum poster-child’ into the house.
As I reached the walk way, the paper bag tore and all the beers came crashing down. Like a frantic mother duck trying to wrangle her ducklings, I began to herd the rolling beer cans with my feet. Several were dented and one had sprung a leak. Being the noble conservationist that I am, I immediately grabbed the leaky can and covered the hole with my mouth so as not to waste any beer unnecessarily.
For those of you who are having trouble imagining all of this, allow me to recap. I’m standing in front of our house with a giant postpartum belly just days after giving birth. Husband is looking on with a toddler squirming in one arm and a newborn in the other. I have a huge coffee in one hand and a beer in the other while multiple beer cans roll around my feet. There is a giant liquor store bag that looks to be torn apart by savage animals. It’s blowing around in the wind while I appear to be enthusiastically chugging one of the beers.
Now imagine this…
A car pulls in the driveway.
It is none other than Public Health.
I forgot they were coming that day.
“I can explain!” I yell as the nurse approaches.
I start blurting out all the details of the story realizing the whole scenario WAS actually as bad as it looked and she was probably tempted to take my children. The deeper I got into the retelling, the more and more I wanted to crawl into the hedges with my beer and my cappuccino and do back and forth shots of each until she went away. But I was too sore from my C-section to do any sort of hedge crawling, so I just had to stand there.
“There’s no chance I’m going to win the Mother of the Year award this year, is there?” I asked sheepishly.
Then Husband piped up, “You might not win the Mother of the Year award, but you’re definitely going to take this year’s Mother of the Beer award!”
At that, we all laughed awkwardly and shuffled into the house where we pretended the last three minutes hadn’t just happened.
So anyone who’s considering running opposite me for the distinguished honour of Mother of the Beer, don’t even bother. You don’t stand a chance.