The Motherflippin’ Wine Bitch

I was handed an opened, but still nearly full bottle of Sancerre as I walked out of the office door yesterday afternoon. It was left over from a tasting I’d missed, and my boss thought I’d like it, given I’m “Mrs Sauvignon Blanc”.  Three small people were waiting to be collected from school, so I didn’t have the time or the energy to explain why I didn’t want this, in a diplomatic enough way not to cause my boss to start doubting my commitment to his company.  Oh but I’ve been so FUCKING TEMPTED by this thing, this poxy ready-opened bottle of fermented grape-widdle. It was speaking in tongues to me all the way home. My hind-brain has been busily working on ALL of the reasons and excuses it can find which would give me permission to pop the cork out and pour a big old glass.

I think the temptation was compounded by the fact that Mr Red was out last night with a mutual friend drinking beers and “having fun”. Like we used to. I even sent him a photo of the bottle, saying it was calling my name, half hoping he’d say “go for it, you deserve it” and half praying he’d say “Red, step away from the bottle, you know there’s only trouble for you there, girl”.

Instead, he sent a non-committal “looks good”. Which I now know was more due to the fact he’d nearly lost the use of his fingers by that point in the evening, but still, it was no bloody help whatsoever.

I ended up filling my face with pizza whilst watching Moana with my daughter. I’m not the biggest Disney fan, but anything with Jermaine Clement in it can’t be all bad, and by the end, I predictably couldn’t give two shits about the wine anymore, and was extremely glad I’d not caved in.

Trouble is, I’m going through exactly the same thing again tonight. Same thought-churning. I’ve been at a kids party, with a load of people I used to drink with, other mums, and we were organising our Christmas night out. I’m questioning everything again. Mr Red is out again tonight, up at our friends house, having a boys night with two of the other school dads; part of a party-gang I was so recently the ringleader of.

How am I perceived by these guys now, is Mr Red the subject of pity, because his previously fun-loving (read booze-loving) party animal of a wife, who could drink the boys under the table, has gone all vanilla and boring?

At the twins birthday party last week, amidst all the chaos and sausage rolls, I found myself being interrogated again by a few people asking me if I was still “on the wagon”, with amazement and confusion, as if I’d announced I’d joined an obscure cult, rather than simply stopping ingesting an addictive substance which is bad for your health. I know this reaction is mostly down to the fact a light is being shined on their own drinking by my abstinence, but it’s starting to make me quite angry.

So again, tonight, I’ve fed myself, put my PJ’s on, made myself a cup of tea the size of my head, and ignored the siren calls of that twatty wine.

Who’d have thought that this simple act of kindness by my boss, this one silly bottle could cause such turmoil in me? And why now? And why the jiggins, you may ask yourself, haven’t I just poured the bastard thing down the sink?

I’m going to pour myself a Brewdog Raspberry Blitz in a nice glass, find a film to watch, and remember that for the last 111 days..

  • I’ve felt some self-esteem.
  • I’m less anxious. In fact not at all anxious.
  • I’ve exercised almost every day, and reaped all of the benefits of this in head and body.
  • I’ve lost the stone in weight I’ve carried around since pregnancy, and I feel stronger every day.
  • I am a vastly better parent.
  • I am on fire at work, and have remembered that I have a brain.

Fuck off, wine. Don’t need you.

Red xx



The Hundred – redux


I am most pleased to announce, I have just made it to 100 days AF… for the second time ever since I began trying this on for size back in December 2015. (Holy cow, is it really three years!? WTF etc)

It was at this point last time that I came up with the incredibly addled idea that I’d only gone and cured myself, proved I didn’t have a “problem” and could now drink like a normal person. That obviously worked out brilliantly, but at least I proved my point, I suppose. The point being, alcohol and I do not play nicely. Therefore it’s for the best if we’re put in separate playpens. Permanently.

I am celebrating my 100 tonight by accidentally being in the midst of party planning hell, as I’m self-catering a large birthday party for about 30 x 6 year olds at the weekend. At least now my focus for the day is that my twins have a fun birthday to remember, rather than working out when I can legitimately start drinking. Because getting shit-faced is such a fabulous reward, eh? I do have a large box of Hotel Chocolat to open though, and I’m going to eat the fucking lot whilst lying decadently in bed later. That’ll be in the hour I get before I have to go to sleep in time to get up at 5.50am to exercise, which is just how I roll these day, because, you know, The Energy.

I’ve noticed an amazing shift in the last three years, the sober movement is growing quickly, almost snowballing recently, and I love it. I love that I’m breaking free from the idea that Mummy needs a faceful of wine to bear parenting on a day-to-day basis.

Life feels SO good at 100 this time. I’m excited to see what SoberMummy’s Field of Bunnies holds in store for me. Please cheer me on for the next 100, if you will!

Red xx