An Open Letter To The 7pm Wine

Dear 7pm wine,

I think I love you. Is that a bit bold to admit so early on? Well, I’ve said it now (hashtag-there-I-said-it).

It’s only since becoming a mum that I’ve truly discovered your healing powers.

Back when I had my first taste of alcohol at around 16 (I’m pretty sure it was something gross like strawberry MD 20/20… I know. Sacrilege, right?) it was out of curiosity and it’s no surprise that for a few years after that, I drank long vodkas and Baileys because they pretty much taste like soft drinks/a milkshake. Throughout uni,  I moved onto more *cough* sophisticated drinks like Bacardi Breezers (cranberry, natch) and Archers and lemonade. I drank in cheesy bars and clubs (Amadeus in Rochester, I’m looking at you) and danced until the designated driver dragged us out of there.

Then, in my early twenties I drank vodka and Diet Coke because I was following the Weight Watchers plan (wish I could go back to my 22-year-old size 12 self and tell her to chill the heck out about her weight) and it was only one ‘point’. I’m pretty sure you’re not meant to save up ten points to drink in one evening, but hey, it worked for me.

It wasn’t until my mid twenties that I discovered your close friend, the after-work white wine. Before that, I hadn’t liked the taste of wine (can you believe that?). The after-work wine was a great stress reliever and when paired with a couple of packets of Mini Cheddars and some office gossip, it was a cracking way to spend every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday night.

But nothing compares to you, the post-kids’-bedtime 7pm glass of wine. I tuck my daughter up in bed, read her a story or two, then come downstairs and head to the fridge. The noise of the screw cap loosening coincides with my shoulder muscles loosening. The glug glug glug of the wine hitting the glass soothes my tight forehead. But it’s that first sip…

Cold, crisp, fruity, dry. Bingo.

I don’t event mind when I hear a little voice from the top of the stairs saying “MUMMYYYY! I NEED A WEEEE!” because I know that when I come back downstairs after taking her for a wee/giving her a drink/fixing her covers/moving her teddies/whatever excuse she happens to be using that night to avoid going to sleep, you’ll be waiting for me.

Thanks, you.

Love, your Number One Fan x

<<< I’m linking this post up to The Bad Mums’ Club – a collection of posts by bloggers on our failings as mothers. The Bad Mums’ Club consists of me, Morgana from But Why Mummy Why, Aimee from Pass The Gin and Katie from Hurrah For Gin but really, everyone is welcome. Of course, we know we’re not really bad mums, but I think it’s important to highlight all the imperfect stuff we do, as well as the amazing rose-tinted moments. It’s good to keep it real, right?Do visit Morgana, Aimee and Katie‘s blogs to read their Bad Mums’ Club posts! >>>