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Tick, tick, tick--when you get up at 6:00, noon seems like an eternity away. But "wait until noon" is the vow you made to yourself, and it is one you plan to keep. If planning goes well and luck intervenes, Little Sister will be asleep by 1:00, and Big Brother will not need to be picked up until 2:40, so that leaves you almost two hours to "relax."
Flashback to the year after college when you first thought this might be a problem. But going to bars on weeknights was common and social and fun and none of you had responsibilities or kids or important jobs. Hanging out four nights a week was acceptable, but hanging out on the other three didn't seem quite right.
12:30: Little Sister is asleep and you feel that unequivocal sense of anticipation and relief as the cork pops when you pull it desperately out of the bottle. Things are on glorious hold now, at least for a little while. Everything can wait, must wait, and Little Sister sleeps on.
People in the know say alcoholics spend most, if not all, of their lives in denial. You disagree. You believe no one is more acutely aware that something is wrong than the alcoholic herself. Only a very short, wonderful time early on is denial. The rest is grief and isolation and fantasy. And wishful thinking. Wishful thinking that the early, wonderful time can be recaptured and sustained somehow and that the older, haggard face looking back at you in the mirror will disappear.
Little Sister stirs and it is only 1:35 and you hold your breath. Certainly you could handle a crying 8 month old, but you'd rather sit there and sip and think and feel sorry for yourself a while longer. And plot and plan because the future never looks quite as bright as when you have an afternoon buzz on.
You know a mom shouldn't do this, but what you don't know is what a Mom should do. You knew back then you needed to get your priorities straight. Most of your bar companions of the '80s have moved on, but when a graduate degree and a marriage didn't help you to get it right, you thought kids would.
And they did. For a while, at least. Two sober postpartum periods followed two sober pregnancies, and it all seemed possible for a minute. Both times, postpartum depression hit you around day 90, and alcohol seemed to be the only thing to really help you out. For a while, at least, and besides you were celebrating and adjusting and whatever else.
You look at the clock and it is 2:20 and Baby Sister is wide-awake. You put her jacket on, put her in the stroller with a bottle, and return to your high school trick of sunglasses and perfume. You get to school just in time to pick up Big Brother at the bell. Big Brother explodes out of the school door like only a kindergartener can. He runs circles around the schoolyard with his comrades and you start to get antsy about leaving. "Let's get going sweetie. Mommy has some work to do at home." Big Brother pleads with you with resignation. An alien voice behind becomes louder and closer. "Oh my. I had no idea you were his mother. This will sound funny to you but I thought you were his nanny". "I am," you facetiously respond, and alien voice laughs awkwardly, unknowingly, as she walks away.
The walk home is both long and short and filled with anticipation and rumination. The promise gets made; the promise always gets made that today will be the last day. Tomorrow will be a new start. A sober new life filled with promise and devoid of the shame. But just for today….
"Mommy, mommy, mommy," the small voice gets louder and pulls you back from that place you go to when you need a drink. "What is it sweetie?" you answer back lovingly. "I'm hungry. Will you order a pizza when we get home?" You nod wearily. Your acquiescence is met with cheers.
BIO: Since March 2003, Regina Walker has been a monthly contributing writer to The Philosophical Mother magazine. Her work has appeared in "Hip Mama", "widdershins", "The Future Generation", "Motherevolution", "Motherload", "Commie Mommie", "Community Mother Magazine", "Goin' Granola", "Literary Vision Magazine", "Healing Mama", "Bio Zin"e,and the online magazine www.stickyourneckout.com. Her work will be featured in upcoming issues of "Lone Star Ma" and "Mamaphiles 2". She is the author of the "Clinical Viewpoint" column in the "Substance Abuse Letter" published by Pace Publications. She is the creator and editor of the zine "Recovering Me". She is a psychotherapist in NYC.
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