Motherhood and wine go together like… motherhood and whining.
There are wine sippy cups, wines made just for moms and countless onsies illustrating an acceptance that, sometimes, moms just need to take the edge off and a glass (or several) of wine is the ticket. And amen to that, sisters. Whatever gets you through the day.
But what about us moms who choose another vice instead? Why can’t we openly talk about that without being judged?
So here goes: Almost every night after I tuck my kids in, I smoke pot. Sometimes it’s a joint, sometimes it’s in lollipop form (yes, I lock those babies up!) and sometimes it’s out of a bong. But at the end of an endless day, that’s my chosen way to unwind as it has been for 15 years. And I’m sick of feeling ashamed over it. Smoking pot doesn’t make me a bad mother.
I don’t need to get stoned. I have no medical condition that warrants seeking out a prescription for the herbal cure all. I simply enjoy the relaxation and comfort that accompanies a nice, mellow high after a long day of wrangling kids, work, basketball practice, dance lessons, homework and chores. Just like a glass of wine would do.
I don’t drink to excess. I don’t abuse medication. I don’t lay around eating Cheetos and snack cakes all day sporting my faded vintage tie dye. I’m not uneducated or ignorant or misinformed.
In fact, I’m involved in the PTA (which actually might necessitate a medical reason for prescription green, but I digress), have a well established career, a happy marriage and I only occasionally forget that my kid has dance on Wednesdays AND Fridays. But for the most part, I am a fully functional and contributing member of society… who just happens to be a pot-head. What’s wrong with that?
I’m not compromising my morals or values or damning my kids to a life of delinquency by choosing this lifestyle. Pot is not some gateway drug that will lead me shooting up in some dark alley somewhere. In fact, it’s by far the healthiest way I’ve found to unwind.
Unfortunately, on the rare occasion when I’ve been open about this with fellow mothers, I’ve been met with judgment and disbelief. I even had one mother refuse to let her kid play at my house because she didn’t “trust my judgment.” (This coming from a woman with a well known Percocet addiction and an open marriage.)
So I’ve learned to laugh along with the mommy-wine jokes and pretend to be a part of their club. Because, really, I am… just in a slightly different way.
Now please pass the Cheetos; it’s almost lights out time.