This is my second post for From Left to Write, an online book club where our bloggers/members create a virtual discussion of a book and how it relates to their lives and in turn, everyone’s lives. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes. The book is available for purchase here.
Mommy Day Three Cocktail
Fill plastic hospital pitcher* with small pieces of ice. Add cranberry juice, top with ginger ale. Drink three or four per day, as delivered by nurse. Realize three pitchers in that this is a ploy, albeit a tasty one, in effort to force you to get up and use the bathroom. Continue to enjoy, even if devious ploy works. Go home the next day and beg husband/exhausted new father to keep them coming.
*Perfectly acceptable to walk out with hospital pitcher amongst your things. You're paying for it anyway.
How badly did I need this drink? Who knows? I was still quite loopy from the drugs required to rip two small people from my body without doing irreparable damage. Turns out that is impossible, but a nice jug of cranberry juice and ginger ale, complete with a bendy straw, made it all better. Still does.
One of my daughters, those pesky children who now snoop and read everything that I do, was horrified to find this in the introduction: If you're a new mother reading this, it's probably 3 am and your nipples are bleeding. Welcome!
"Yuck MOM! That is gross, bleeding nipples? Ewww!".
"Absolute yuck Mary. Give me the book".
She has no idea. Of course the secret truth is that having a baby, or two, reeked more havoc on my psyche than my, all right, nipples. And no cocktail, no matter how fabulous, could give me back what I lost when I gained two permanent appendages: the ability to think only of myself. Adding a wee bit of vodka might help.
The Reasons Mommy Drinks is part memoir, part cocktail cookbook and all parts funny. It's not a classic, references to Snooky (done so well) assure us of that, but it is a really funny book. One that a new mother who will most certainly be up at 3:00 am experiencing some level of nipple pain might enjoy reading. One that will, for a moment, distract you from the physical madness that is happening to your body, but not take away, for one moment, the amazing beating being dealt to your psyche. As it should be, no cocktail required.
The most disturbing part of reading and then writing about this book? Having to google "Snooky" as I had no idea how to spell her name'ish.