This time last year, I was heavily pregnant. With the holiday season rapidly approaching. One of the benefits of being pregnant is looking forward to a whole two weeks of partys, work ‘do’s’, christmas drinks and watching the New Year’s Eve bells toll without one iota of alcohol. Awesome.
Don’t judge me as an alcoholic, but Christmas isn’t quite Christmas without a sniff of booze. Not only do you get to spend all of it sober. You also get the ‘oh, it’s alright, H will drive’ comments – will she? I don’t remember volunteering to squeeze 7 inebriated mates into my car and drive through the icy backroads of whichever english county we happen to be in to get to ‘a great pub’ (definition of great pub, by the way, is significantly different when you can’t indulge in the local fine ale, a decent glass of vino or a good healthy cider; a great pub is now one defined as good food, comfy seating and clean, wide loos). And its funny because when I’m ready to go home – which is generally about ten o’clock when pregnant and having just eaten- no one else is quite there yet – ‘just one more, H, won’t be long.’ – I hate you.
Its also impossible to enjoy music anymore. Get the image of a pregnant whale shark dancing out of your head because that is off putting enough. Now imagine the pregnant whale shark is fully conscious of how pregnant and how whale shark-like she looks, which immediately inhibits any type of natural rhythm and you end up moving about with the grace of a space hopper. It’s also interesting to note from your sober look-out post that there are generally two reasons why blokes dance – a) they fancy the girl they are dancing near (so its never you) or b) they are beyond legless (at which point they put their arm around you and say something like ‘dontchuworryHyorlbeealuverlymummy’). At which point you tactfully extract yourself and find a bar stool to lever yourself on to and from where you can view the rest of the evening from afar while you drink your lime and lemonade. Before retiring to bed at the extortionately late time of half eleven, exhausted. And to be honest a little bored.
At least you do get the somewhat comic morning after experience of watching everyone else turn up for work either hungover to hell or still drunk as a skunk. And the gossip is never about you. But the smell of stale alcohol makes you want to heave.
So, lovely preg a mamas, do yourself a noble favour and take the money you save from not boozing and treat yourself. You’ve earned it this holiday season. Every drop of it. Enjoy it, and make the most of a different way to spend the holiday season: being the sober hero to your friends who need a lift or a shoulder to cry on. And then go and spoil yourself too. Because you really will be a lovely mummy.