Next up on the shame train: the consumption of alcohol, casual or otherwise.
Granted, this wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to shame moms for enjoying a glass of wine or three. Heck, there's been e-pinions on the subject for years about how harmful it is to say "mommy needs a drink" and how we're glamourizing the devil that is going to make alcoholics out of all of us! ...Or at least, statistically contribute to our early demise.
Not to belittle the seriousness of alcoholism in the least, a real (and quite shitty) disease, but there are billions of people out there who have, for thousands of years, managed to enjoy alcohol casually and responsibly without completely destroying their lives. And statistically contributing to our early demise and/or hospital bills? Well, sure, the world has never lacked for fools under the influence.
But hey, I've fallen down the stairs completely stone-cold sober, too.
As much as part of me is still on this "I'm invincible" train, I'm old enough that I have reconciled myself to the fact that, SOMEDAY, I am going to die. Something's going to get me, be it heart attack, cancer, tragic accident, or simply old age in my sleep. You cannot cheat death forever, and no amount of abstaining from chocolate, sex, drugs, or alcohol will make me immortal.
So stop trying to shame me out of all of the little joys I squeeze into my life, assholes.
Yeah, I'd love to be one of those lucky few who can sell off my home and live in a yurt in the back end of nowhere, eating food I've grown with my own two hands, sunbathing (judiciously, slathered with plenty of high SPF lotion, natch), living the pure and simple life. But unfortunately for me, I'm one of those millions of realists who are subject to life's other great constant: bills and taxes.
And, yeah, sometimes a glass of wine and a towel over my face as I lay in my backyard and try to ignore the fact that I have neighbouring houses like 10 feet away is the closest thing to a vacation I'm going to get this month. THIS "mommy" needs that 20 minutes of self-care time and a nice and legal mood-lifter. The fact that it's 6 ounces of pinot grigio, enjoyed responsibly in my home, is my business. Quite bluntly, I don't give a rats ass if it might increase my small odds of getting a disease by a fraction of a percent any more than I care that watching an hour of TV will shorten my life expectancy by 21.8 minutes.
Besides, all those shitty odds games make the huge assumption that all of us will live to the ripe age of "too damn old" without encountering anything we have zero control over. Like getting run over by a bus.
The only thing I can think of that might be worse than dying from a disease, or dying early, would being living a long life that I was forbidden to enjoy. That's a special sort of hell. I'd hate to look back at the age of 95 full of regrets cause I was being shamed into abstaining from enjoying life, including bacon and wine, responsibly.
So perhaps you'll understand if I go grab myself another glass of pinot and my sunglasses, instead.
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