on drinking before lunch.

It's 12:15 in the afternoon.

And I just scanned the liquor cabinet.

There's enough gin for ONE gin and tonic. A days worth of vodka tonics. Margaritas? Too sour. Lots of light rum . . . but no mint.

There are varying degrees of alcoholism.

I'm getting real with ya'll today. R-E-A-L.

Yes, I drink to relax. Yes, I need more than one drink. Yes, I think that there is nothing wrong with this. Or do I?

I can think of only three occasions that I have been drunk since the babies were born. Three. And I wasn't even stupid-drunk on two of those occasions (yes, I am excluding the night that I lost my knee to hungry pavement).

Why do I feel guilty for wanting a drink at noon?

There are two opposing opinions to this question.

ONE: The Christians that are damning me to hell every time that they read my blog and pray for merciful forgiveness after reading every post. These readers are my family. Those that live near me. Were saved by my generous hands in Jr. High School. YOU (Mom and other Southern readers) are thinking hey, you feel guilty because drinking is WRONG and you're at home with your kids and you haven't even had LUNCH YET! You need help. YOU'RE AN ALCOHOLIC!!!

TWO: Other stay-at-home-moms, my husband, friends and people that read my blog because they identify with a looney-bag. YOU are thinking go ahead! You deserve a drink! Hell, I couldn't do what you do everyday. Why are you giving yourself such a hard time? After all, didn't your period just move back into town? And didn't Zadie wake up after a fifteen minute nap? Yeah, Zadie, the one that is sick? And whines. And she's shoving tissue paper into her mouth and playing with power strips on the floor while you're writing this? It's supposed to rain two inches today, isn't that right? Go ahead, YOU ARE NOT A BAD PERSON (not for drinking, anyway-- maybe for letting your kid play with a power strip . . .?).

Go ahead, fight it out.

But my mother will win. For today. Because she will be here later and judge the smell of self-medication on my breath. That would make me feel guilty. Even more than I do already.

Look readers, it's not that I don't love my kids. They aren't even annoying like most kids-- they are fabulous, funny, happy little hams . . . and I know just how lucky I am to have them-- BOTH of them-- AT ONE TIME. Honestly, I do. People get so bent out of shape when a mother complains. Shit, people! Give me a break! I don't have to justify the difficulty of being on twenty-four hour call to two babies every effing day of my life. Yes, lots of people are in much worse situations-- and I am one lucky hooker-- but I NEED A DRINK!

I guess the real question is not, "Why do I feel guilty?"

It is actually, "Why do I let other people make me feel guilty?"

p.s. and not completely off subject: Barney is a bastard and I'd like to kick his purple dino-balls.