Six and a half months ago I would have come home from my absolutely dismal day of work, and poured myself a glass of wine or cracked open a beer. Perhaps I would even mix a “pick-me-up” cocktail before dinner. Unfortunately, these days I no longer get this luxury, which means that my old fail safe crutch of a little bit of alcohol getting me through the night, no longer exists. I would be lying to you if I said that it didn’t depress me a little to know that this option is no longer available to me.
I’m not a huge drinker, especially not for liquor, but much like everything else in life that you can’t have you want it even more. So is the story of my life lately. Instead of using alcohol to now de-stress, a sorry excuse for a crutch I know, I am now forced to find an alternative that is healthy for me and safe for my baby. Stress is what I feed off of. I’m a high-strung, stressed-out, OCD personality. My younger brother used to call me “Drama Queen” and it fit quite well. I gladly wore that crown with pride. Unfortunately that crown is quickly becoming tarnished and I’m afraid that I now need to store it away.
My job is a job, not a career and something that I may find shelving in the near future especially considering the fact that I don’t want to fret about days like this when my child is born. My husband, being the wonderful and eager to please person that he is, offered to mix a cranberry juice with club soda and a lime to simulate the taste of the cranberry/vodkas that I love. I don’t want the taste of the drink, I told him. I want to experience the numbing effects of the euphoric state that alochol used to put me in. And I feel ashamed to say that’s what I want now even though I’m with child. So instead of my drink or a replacement for it, I went upstairs and worked out for 45 minutes until my stress was gone.
Here’s my fear, though, especially where my job is concerned and the stress level I force upon myself, I don’t want to leave work and say “it’s a brown liquor night” while I’m on my way to pick up my son and spend my few hours with him in a downward spiral of depression. I’m hoping this is just my current frame of mind, and that things will change. So, long story short I’ve told my husband when I call on my way home from work now and say “it’s a brown liquor night” that’s code for give me at least 45 minutes to work out some of this stress.