Indulgence

December 2021

 “You’re doing great. You’re slaying.”

 I make eye contact with myself in our bathroom mirror. My greasy hair is slicked back into a ponytail and I’m wearing the same leggings and sweatshirt I slept in, even though it’s three in the afternoon. A disposable mask hangs off of one ear. 

Nine month old Hero is in our tula front pack, fast asleep on my chest. I’m standing on one leg like a flamingo struggling to balance as I aim to push off my leggings that are now covered with pee. 

 Not the baby’s pee. 

I’d decided that I would wear Hero for his second nap of the day, while I stood at my laptop and got in an hour of computer work. Hard crib mattress versus my soft chest? Wearing him was a more reliable chunk of me time. But I’d made a Rookie mistake.  I’d put his needs before my own, strapping in my tired and fussing infant before checking my bladder.

Wake him? Not an option. I’d already pushed his naptime further that day by insisting that he stay awake in his car seat as we turned onto our street, back home from Christmas shopping.

“Hero! Stay awake, big boy! Mommy will be there in two seconds!”

“Wah-hah-ha!” His eyes blink open for me and his sleepy face screws into a curl of despair in my rearview mirror. 

Why didn’t I want him to fall asleep in his carseat? 

Because I had to pee, of course!  And now you are fully onboard with the clown act my life has become.

So, I lift our toilet seat like a man and try to get my yoga pants down far enough, while staying upright enough to release my bladder without waking him.

It works! He stays asleep. But the pants are soaked. I peel them off, high five myself in the mirror, and walk into my office. Naked from the waist down, I open the online box office for our theater company. Then, I switch hats to producer, and answer emails from actors eager to be cast in our January cabaret, Bohemia. All the while drinking cold coffee and eating an entire chocolate bar.

I’m a hedonist, can you tell?

Before our son’s conception I smoked weed everyday. Never before performances or rehearsals was my one condition. The pot kept my thought train on track, then I relied on a good côte de rhone to relax afterwards. I spent easily $300 a month on bars, boutique weed shops and restaurants.

Now, all of that decadence has compressed itself into 3oz of dark chocolate a day, and two cups of coffee. 

I took the wine and weed for granted. I even grew to despise them as much as I craved them. But I don’t have those feelings about My Chocolate.

“Did you find your treat?” 

Christian peeks around the wall of our galley style apartment kitchen with glee. I’m washing the dishes by hand, my morning chore. (Not at night! Don’t wake the baby!) 

I freeze and spin: My eyes, even without contacts, spot the foil wrapped bar. 

“86%!! My Sweetie!!”

Coffee is a more delicate subject. Everything I eat and drink effects my breastmilk. 

“Maybe you should drink less coffee?”

No one says this to me, but I remember the tiff Christian and I had over my precious cuppa after the first trimester of pregnancy. 

One year earlier…

“200 mg and under is fine!”

“But how do you know how much caffeine is in that cup you brew at home?”

“The risk of caffeine during pregnancy is low birth weight or miscarriage. I’m 30 weeks pregnant and the perfect size. It’s only an 8oz cup that I measure meticulously. LET ME HAVE THIS ONE THING!!!”

“All I know is that every woman I know says no caffeine during pregnancy.”

“Who is this every woman? Who? Your mom? TV?”

Some things are worth fighting for in a relationship, and apparently coffee is the grounds I will die on.

December 2021

“’I really wish I could smoke a joint with you right now.”

Christian and I are alone together in the car which is a rare occurance these days. We are headed to Sea Tac Disc Golf Course, our go-to date location if we splurge on a babysitter for a couple of hours.

As an artist and a chef, my paycheck goes straight to childcare and his is stretched thin. Taking time for each other is a luxury. 

Before the baby, Christian and I would get stoned all the time. It was romantic, a way to connect, to unwind, to get in the mood, to enjoy dinner together, and the great outdoors. 

“Aw, baby. I wish we could too.” He holds my hand. It’s enough to be together, but I still miss it. The grass is definitely greener when it comes to ganja. 

January 2022

“I had an interesting moment during the show last night.”

My Sister tucks her legs underneath her on our blue couch.

“Ooh, tell tell tell”

Three years my junior and now well into her thirties, my sister has had her own crosses to bear. She’s an excellent ear for my newfound awareness regarding my former commiserators- weed and booze.

“I had a really strong urge to have a drink at the show last night. It was at the end of our first week. I wanted to celebrate…this is my first time onstage as a new mom and it was such a push to get to opening night.”

 “That’s worth celebrating. What did you decide to do?”

 “I realized what I was craving was my routine from before Hero. It was, do the first show, have a shot of whiskey in a glass of coke, feel the buzz, and get through the second show of the night with a glass of wine at the bar after and a puff when I got home in the bath. I knew that routine as well as the songs we sing onstage.”

Sister warmed her hands on the mug of peppermint tea that I had poured for her. The cup reads, “Best Tante Ever” a present for Hero’s first Christmas.

“I think it’s awesome that you noticed the routine in the moment. Just thinking about that old pattern caused a dopamine hit in your brain. It had nothing to do with actual substances.”

 “I want what theater was before the baby, before the pandemic, in so many ways. But I don’t need the alcohol anymore, you’re right. I had some cold coffee between shows. I did raise half a glass of bubbles afterwards, to celebrate. And then raced home.”

 “And felt really proud of yourself, I hope.”

 And ate two squares of Ghirardelli caramel filled chocolate in the car, on the way there. Winning!

 As evidence by the bathroom antics, and the self-analysis, the coffee and the chocolate, the mourning of weed, and the struggles with tasty beverages, my life has changed since my baby.but I haven’t. I’ve just grown with the reflection in the mirror, and slaying the game…when it happens, deserves celebrating in whatever way feels best for me and my family. 

Hero and I in our tula front pack, nap place of champions.

Christian and I before the baby.