My Son was Tardy Because I was Hungover

I’m the worst mom ever. I’m the worst mom ever. 

“Mommy, why are you crawling on the floor?” he asked.

“Mommy doesn’t feel well, honey. It’s already 8 am so you need to go get dressed; you’re going to be late. Mommy can’t get up right now.”

As much of a fight as getting dressed and grabbing breakfast is every morning, he did it all on his own that day. My baby. Concerned and genuine like most kids, intuitive and knowing that mommy really couldn’t do it all today. I couldn’t do it all because I drank too much last night. Was I still drunk? Oh my God, I feel like crap. I threw together a lunch, a book bag, grabbed the baby and we all ran out the door.

Harsh reality

I wish I could joke about it. I wish I could make some funny meme, and we could all have a good laugh. But deep down, in the darkest part of my being, I secretly fear the alcoholism that runs in my family. It’s not just one family member, it’s multiple. Some worse than others, intervention after intervention all for naught. I only confided this fear to my best friend – not even my husband. He knew I wasn’t well that day and he knew why, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I had failed miserably as a mother. Tears well up in my eyes as I write this, even though I know I don’t have a problem. It’s been a couple years since I actually drank a little too much and felt that bad. But I still can’t help but worry that those demons are part of my genes.

Is this who I am?

My best friend assured me I was not like family member a, b, or c. I only drank socially and I was a wonderful mom, she said. I wanted to believe her but I kept beating myself up. This is mostly why I typically only drink on the weekends, no more than a couple glasses of wine. I don’t do hard liquor, because it just feels like more dangerous territory. A margarita is a special occasion and I allow myself no more than two. There’s always this voice in the back of my head, reminding me of what I could become. What could it take for me to become an alcoholic? Lose a close family member; lose a job? Or could the daily stressors of life just get the best of me?

Never again

I know this much: what happened that day will never happen again. Never again will my son see that side of me; never again will my poor decisions personally affect my child. I really try so hard to be a good mother. I focus on one on one time with each child, ferry them to school and extra curricular activities, buy organic, cuddle them, tell them I love them. I try to do all the things mothers do to raise a happy, healthy, respectable child. I know all those things don’t sound like much, but I hope the attention, love and efforts I make will be remembered.

I will be a good mother. I am a good mother.


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