It is post child bedtime as I sit here writing this post, to the right of me sits a rather large glass of red wine, which if I’m honest I have been looking forward to since about 3.30 this afternoon. If I’m going to be really honest I would say that this is typical of most days. Ok so being even more truthful on some days I have sat at the dinner table gripping a large glass of wine in an effort to protect my sanity amidst a situation similar to feeding time at the zoo. The remainder of the bottle usually sits patiently on the side, waiting for the children to go bed so we can have some alone time.
The wine has always been there for me, especially after a few very bad days. Bad days are usually defined by the level of shittyness that the children reach which results in the loosing of ones shit. At the end of these kinds of days I am left with a hundred pounds of guilt on my shoulders for letting shouty mummy take over and I dissect every bit of parenting, convincing myself that I should have done better. One glass of the old vino and the inner critic leaves, my head clears and my shoulders return to their usual anatomical position. There definitely appears to be a direct correlation between the amount of wine consumed and the type of day that I have had. Tantrums and usual threenager stuff would probably mean one glass. Worse case scenario or ‘1 bottle days’, have been caused by multiple tantrums, poo, pee and milk on the floor and a double hit of conjunctivitis.
As much I joke about my fondness for the vino and whether the day has been a one or two glass of wine kind of day, I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not that funny anymore and maybe has a slightly sinister undertone to it all. If you think about it, counting down to wine o’clock, constantly debating an acceptable wine o’clock time and the emergency ‘BRING WINE HOME’ texts to the other half, is probably not the best. Can I really not get through a day of mothering without the comfort of the vino waiting for me at the end of the day?
Of course I can, not every day is a vino dependant day. I don’t hit the vino everyday and I’m not hiding bottles in the laundry basket just yet. But when I go into the weekend it’s as if something clicks in my head where I believe I have the alcohol consumption powers of my 18-year-old self (although am not shimmying around a nightclub, I am horizontal on the sofa) with the ability to waft through a hangover. I seem to forget that I am now unable to stay in bed eating a dominoes and watching Friends (oh how I miss those days). I forget that I cannot throw a sickie because my employers do not allow me too; my three little bosses need me to be at the top of my game. Being a mum of three Pre-Schoolers is exhausting at the best of times, add in a foggy head due to a couple of vino’s the night before and its a recipe for disaster. In reality just one glass of wine knocks me about these days and seems to leave me with a mild hangover (a bit tired and grumpy with a small pizza craving). So I think its time to come to terms with the fact that I am now just shit at drinking and me and the vino need to take a break.
A little bit easier said than done as I really do love the wine and is often the only thing that seems to help me unwind and re-connect with my sanity after a toddler, threenager(s) combo attack. But it appears to have become habitual and I am in some sort of cycle; the vicious wine cycle where the children reach a wine inducing level of shittiness, shouty mummy appears then guilty mummy runs straight for the comfort of the vino. The foggy head of the next day only makes grumpy mummy come out and it makes the day with the kids less enjoyable *. Shouty mummy and grumpy mummy often visit the house, but to limit the chance of them making an appearance I need to be parenting on a full tank, not under the influence of a couple of vinos from the night before. So its time to try to break the cycle and look for other things to find comfort in at the end of the day.
I’ll have a go at least, but I imagine me and the vino will hook up every now and then.
*Not enjoyable per se, I mean its more manageable, as in the whining squabbling and tantrums don’t seem to shatter the brain into a hundred pieces. I can get through a play doh session or pop-up-pirate without loosing my shit.
Categories: Mum of three ramblings