Читать книгу Bottled - Dana Bowman - Страница 10

Introduction Introduction

“Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting.”

William Shakespeare

It took a wedding, two babies, and a funeral to help me understand I needed to get sober. How I survived parenting while in recovery is another story.

For me, the ugly cry involves a lot of snot and bravado. The snot is self-explanatory, but the bravado means I simply refuse to acknowledge the copious drips collecting around my nose. I won’t wipe. I don’t blink. I don’t even call my bluff with a wet sniffle. Sitting in a squeaky pew at my brother’s funeral, I have settled into the ugly cry. At this point there is so much beading of moisture I’m convinced I’ll leak all over myself when I go up to give his eulogy. Meredith takes pity on me and hands me a Kleenex; it’s the size of a postage stamp. I half-heartedly dab at one side of my nose, which only makes the snot spread, leaving a glistening snail trail over my once perfectly applied lip gloss.

At last I give in and collapse into my father’s cotton handkerchief. I had asked him for it before the funeral, and he’d handed it to me without a word. I’d wanted it because I needed to hold on to something of his while I realized that his boy, and my darling brother, was gone.

My brother died because he drank too much.

I, also, drank too much. Here’s the story of how I stopped, and how I keep being stopped every day, twenty-four hours at a time. I am in recovery, and I am a wife and a mother to two small children all at the same time. Having toddlers and not drinking seems quite a feat to some, and I completely understand. My drinking wasn’t crazy when I was in my twenties, partying with friends. My addiction didn’t bloom until my thirties when I was devastated by a broken heart. Instead it waited, patiently, until I had the one thing I always wanted: true love.

Now I had a husband, two babies, and a big fat addiction to alcohol.

Is parenting possible without wine? Even on a nut-ball, crazy toddler, Sharpie-marker-on-the-couch, Barney-on-repeat kind of day?

Yes. And, more importantly, even with the decorated couch, even with Barney, even when I can’t find my keys, or my sanity, or a diaper, I found joy in sobriety. It’s possible.

Not only is it possible, it is deserved.