My whole adult existence, wine has always given me great ideas. Let me tell you. Like when I was dating, why not text that guy I didn’t like on my last date, right now–because I am bored and tipsy? Or why not bring up a work issue with my boss because it’s a perfect time to do that when you’re emotional and a little toasty? Oh, not to mention, that one time I saw Peter the penguin, and texted my mom to come meet him—but we won’t delve further into that. Yep. So of course, my great wine ideas would carry on into my parenting.
I lay in the nook of the couch with my blue Little Giraffe blanket wrapped tightly around me like my very own swaddle. Nice and snug. I just poured a glass of wine, White Girl Rose—how basic of me I thought–when I got the best idea ever. This was all a part of my nighty slothful routine. So my grand parenting idea was to leave the 7AM Enfant on the stroller even though tomorrow was supposed to be in the sixties. It went a little like this.
“Babe, want me to take the 7AM off?” My husband asked, analyzing the stroller knowing all too well stroller accessories and I are not the best go together. I hate to admit this, especially being a feminist, but I am not the handiest woman in the world. Or truth be told, I get lazy after a long day of being a stay-at-home working mom and would rather him do it.
“Nah, I just won’t have her wear a jacket,” I said, thinking this was absolutely brilliant because she hates her jacket—taking another sip of my wine. I am a genius mom, I thought giving myself a figurative pat on the back.
Lo and behold, the next day there was something wrong with the straps and the 7AM (was it the combination? Gosh darn it!) and I couldn’t figure it out. We were running late for a crawling class, so I threw her in the best I could and we were off. Walking down the street, I noticed myself getting warmer and took off my winter coat. Also, does my daughter look a little lop-sided? I thought and hoped maybe she wouldn’t notice if I distracted her. I started singing to make her laugh, with the very appropriate song for the moment from Alice in Wonderland “I’m Late,” while hippity hopping along like a bunny. She giggled. Mission accomplished.
But then a couple of blocks later, I felt a trickle of sweat down my back as my little girl bounced and suddenly tilted more like she was going to hit her head against the stroller bumper bar. I started fanning myself with my hands–gosh it’s getting hot, I thought as my nerves felt like a huge tangled ball of twine—as people passed and my baby started screaming.
“Don’t worry sweetie we are going to be there in a couple of minutes,” I feigned excitement, and started to jog. I decided to stop at Giggle for them to fix the stroller straps. Let’s just say, they were as confused as me, and this situation ended with me carrying my 11 month old in one hand, pushing the stroller with the other hand, for fifteen blocks until we reached class. It was awful. Plus, I missed half the class. When I walked in I could see the other mom’s stare like shit that poor mom or glad that wasn’t me this morning. Come on, unfortunately, we have all been there!
Then on the way back I still couldn’t figure out the straps, plus it was so freaking hot, when I got paired in the streets with the perfect mom, who was feeding her baby a snack while her baby had a big ear-to-ear grin seated perfectly in her stroller. Fuck, get me away from her. I then felt like she was following me. I would walk fast and then at each light, she would catch up. Then we both turned, which led to me realize shit, she lives in my building. I couldn’t help but think she must have thought I was the worst mother ever because my baby was basically kissing the stroller bumper the whole way home because my achy arms couldn’t carry her anymore.
If ever asked the question, would you rather do that whole scenario again or get sick to your stomach in the middle of a party? Easy. Definitely get the shits at a party.
Another wine idea, thinking it’s smart to use the Baby Bjorn more often. That would be an emphatic no! Twenty blocks later with a twenty-pound baby, I thought my back was going to give out. Oh and I had to walk back.
So the next time, I am having my nightly glass of vino, maybe I will think twice about making any actual parenting decisions. But then again, life wouldn’t be quite as fun. For someone who tends to lean towards self-doubt and cynicism, especially when analyzing myself in an important role like parenting, a glass of wine to lighten up the mood every now and then ain’t too terrible. Plus, I get a good laugh. And as they say, there’s nothing like a good belly laugh to feel alive.