Give it a little Wine
This weekend marked the first taste of alcohol I've had since becoming pregnant with The Peanut. We had a lovely wedding to attend, and that we did with the children (we were told we were brave on more than one occasion. Not sure if it was because of The Kiddo. He's almost 5 and completely controllable. I am pretty sure they were referring to The Peanut. All 2 months of her cuteness).
It was the typical of typical Chicago area wedding. Beautifully set tables with gorgeous fresh flower centerpieces. Lots of lace, ribbons, white table linens and china. And champagne toasts and wine. Of which I had a sip of champagne as I was rushing out of the room during the best man's toast as to not disturb his moving discourse about growing up with the groom since childhood. Not that I was going to say a peep--but the baby on my shoulder was wearing a grumpy face that was ready to burst into something called a hunger cry.
No, the alcohol came in the form of a glass a wine. With dinner. It should have been a Merlot--as it would have tasted glorious with the seasoned steak that came with dinner. But it was a Zinfandel. That good ole cheap, sweet wine that is completely my favorite. I'd also like to say I had a few glasses and relaxed a bit with the family and visiting. But what really happened was more akin to fielding a child that found the booming music completely overwhelming to and from the women's restroom and lounger. Or off to the sitting area near the entrance.
Sure the husband and I passed her back and forth so I could eat. She even had a few relatives arms hold and rock her for a while--but when the music was turned up a notch, she fell into an almost inconsolable wail. One that I was worn to a bits about after about an hour (one can only rock and pat for so long).
We hugged, kissed, and said our good-byes. As I packed up our things, realized, I'd had only half of the glass of wine. And dinner? Well, about the same.
It was the typical of typical Chicago area wedding. Beautifully set tables with gorgeous fresh flower centerpieces. Lots of lace, ribbons, white table linens and china. And champagne toasts and wine. Of which I had a sip of champagne as I was rushing out of the room during the best man's toast as to not disturb his moving discourse about growing up with the groom since childhood. Not that I was going to say a peep--but the baby on my shoulder was wearing a grumpy face that was ready to burst into something called a hunger cry.
No, the alcohol came in the form of a glass a wine. With dinner. It should have been a Merlot--as it would have tasted glorious with the seasoned steak that came with dinner. But it was a Zinfandel. That good ole cheap, sweet wine that is completely my favorite. I'd also like to say I had a few glasses and relaxed a bit with the family and visiting. But what really happened was more akin to fielding a child that found the booming music completely overwhelming to and from the women's restroom and lounger. Or off to the sitting area near the entrance.
Sure the husband and I passed her back and forth so I could eat. She even had a few relatives arms hold and rock her for a while--but when the music was turned up a notch, she fell into an almost inconsolable wail. One that I was worn to a bits about after about an hour (one can only rock and pat for so long).
We hugged, kissed, and said our good-byes. As I packed up our things, realized, I'd had only half of the glass of wine. And dinner? Well, about the same.
Labels: baby, life, motherhood, The Peanut
