Sober as a Mother

The cool moms think I’m lame, but that’s okay.

I’ve written about substance abuse a few times in my 2.5 years of sobriety. Usually, my writing on this topic revolves around the bizarre grey area in the world of substance abuse that is “wine moms;” a toxic, social media-fueled culture that is rife with functional alcoholism and domestic turmoil. Oh, and people seem to think drunk moms are super cute and sexy, so there’s that.

(I’m sure that my husband, and anyone who has ever been closely intertwined with a frequently drunk person, would disagree wholeheartedly with that assessment.)

My world currently revolves around parenting, so it’s no wonder my writing on the booze subject tends to lean more towards wine mom culture than alcoholism and substance abuse in general. But, substance abuse is a serious issue that expands so much farther from my little parenting sphere; it is varied, complex, and global.

It’s also not funny. It’s not cute. Glorifying it, normalizing it, and even going so low as to market it, are actions that stain the decency of the human condition.

Okay, let’s back up a step, here. If you’ve read any of my writing, you’ll know that usually it’s tinged with humour, and maybe a dollop of dark sarcasm here and there. A pinch of self deprecation, from time to time. But in general, I try to keep things light.

It is so effin’ hard to do that when I’m writing about sobriety. While I can, on any given day, find the humour in damned near everything, sobriety is something I tend to take seriously. Maybe that’s because sobriety made my entire existence so much better, while alcohol could have singularly destroyed it.

You might say that I take great pride in being a sober mother. And I do; I’m so proud of what I’ve accomplished. I know, without a doubt in my mind, that I’m a kinder, more patient, and more cognitively lucid parent now than I’ve ever been before. Don’t worry: this isn’t a preachy article berating you to quit drinking (unless you would consider your little habit to be classified as disordered drinking, in which case you should consider reaching out. Message me, if you need to!) I’m just pointing out the insane benefits sobriety has delivered to me, personally — it’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself, and for my family.

But it sure doesn’t help me with my social standing in certain Mommy circles.

Moms sometimes cling to the little things that keep them sane. For me, at least, now, that would be my cuppa joe. You will be prying my Yeti mug from my cold, dead hands before I consider giving up my daily caffeine intake — which is a reasonable amount, before you go calling me a hypocrite. I drink my daily two cups with whipped almond milk and sweetener because, apparently, I’m bourgie AF.

For some moms, it’s a nicely chilled glass of Pinot Grigio after their kiddos are in bed. That’s cool and all, especially if, as I mentioned above, it’s a healthy amount and/or frequency. But these tend to be the very moms who look like there’s a smelly fart hanging in the air when I decline an offered glass, and utter the ill-fated phrase, “no thanks — I don’t drink.”

I blame wine mom culture (again.) It’s allowed other moms to believe, without having to even think about it critically, that all moms drink. I mean, baby clothing companies have actually mass produced onesies that cutely proclaim, “I’m the reason Mommy drinks!” Or, another common cutesy slogan, “Mommy’s way more fun now that she can drink again!” It’s just so widely accepted as a universal thing — I get it. I do.

When you throw these unsuspecting moms a wicked sober curve ball, they don’t know how to respond to your smiling, increasingly awkward expression. I’ve had the occasional, “why?” blurted out in my direction as a response, which is usually quickly recalled in a bluster of apologies as I stand there stupidly, my mouth hanging open in an attempt to begin to explain.

(It’s fine, by the way, I have no problem telling anyone that I just can’t drink. It’s already an awkward discussion, so I’m used to this reaction. And, social awkwardness, come to think of it…)

Other times, these well meaning moms revert to humour and jovially nudge me, asking jokingly if I’m pregnant. Haha. Ha.

No.

I don’t know what it is, specifically, but the second my refusal of the proffered wobbly pop is out there, I can physically feel my social standing plummet on the spot.

Yeesh, maybe I should just pretend I’m pregnant. Or Amish, maybe.

You know, I’m already a nerd, why did I have to go and add this particular idiosyncrasy to my rapidly expanding repertoire of weirdness? I already can’t discuss the latest RPG I’ve been playing or what is happening in my dungeons and dragons campaign with the super chic 20-something Mom down the street, and this whole not-drinking stigma might be even worse than my nerd-status.

I understand the social faux pas of announcing your imperfections to the world, but can’t we just, like, change the subject?

I like dogs. Let’s talk about dogs!

No? Jason Momoa? Everyone likes him, right? How about any one of the Chrises (Chrisi? Is that the plural of several Chrises?) from those Marvel movies?

I’ll literally talk about anything else, please. Just try.

My social interactions with other moms, as rare as they are in a pandemic, are awkward enough, but when we’re at little Timmy’s birthday party, why are mimosas the drink of choice? When did day drinking while taking care of little ones become not only socially acceptable, but widely understood as a reasonably responsible parenting practice?

What world is this??

It’s not only other moms who inwardly wish they’d never brought up alcohol with me, either. When I’m out attempting to socialize with other homo sapiens and the kids are at home with dad, and it’s a socially acceptable time of day to commence drinking, and I don’t; I think the social awkwardness might actually be even worse.

Oh look: here come the pregnancy jokes and sniggers again. Haha. Hoho.

Honestly, I wish people would just understand one simple, easy to remember truth about people who don’t drink alcohol — we’re just as messed up and flawed as everyone else on the planet, and we know it. I think there’s a stigma that surrounds people who don’t drink, which is that we consider ourselves to be better than people who do drink.

Which is just so! Not! True!

The reasons that people choose to quit drinking are as varied as they are personal, and there’s just no need to discuss it or focus on it at all. I wish I could just have that scrawled inside a floating thought bubble above my head for the world to read, because I think if I had that, everyone could just breathe and get past the social awkwardness that is inherent when dealing with a non-drinker.

Besides, non-drinkers are super cool people. And, we are usually pretty free with our offerings to chauffeur people home from the pub. So please, kindly ignore our order of diet Ginger Ale and for the love of all that is holy, let’s commence discussing whether it’s ‘Chrises’ or ‘Chrisi.’

And what, oh what, would we call a pack of Chrises? (A ‘charisma’ is my vote. A charisma of Chrises. Chrisi?)