(don't) pass me another

When Amara became cognizant of my blog, she began requesting about what could and could not be written. So I turned to social media. Then Facebook became over saturated and drama-filled. So I became obsessed with posting in 140 characters. Then that became too much so I started simply taking pictures. Then my best friend commented a few months ago about my Instagram feed. And I knew exactly what he was going to say.

My on-again off-again affair with cocktails began freshman year of college. I never drank in high school, but apparently shipping me 300 miles away from home to a metropolitan area just does...something. I enjoyed my drinks. A lot. One blackout. One emergency room visit. Countless bad decisions. As well shaken and intentioned as my libations were, I could not drink in moderation. Once I have one, I want another.

I graduated, got married, had a baby and "grew up." Justifying a couple of drinks when you're celebrating a holiday or toasting a birthday is easy when you have a partner who doesn't drink. Built-in designated driver. But when you're separating said spouse and the celebration becomes a crutch, refraining from alcohol becomes the only choice.

I remember a time when a four-year-old Amara noticed something missing from our shopping cart during our weekly grocery trip. "Mom, you forgot the wine!"

To this day, Amara simply expects me to order a beer with my burger or wine with dinner. Heck, I have friends who are surprised when I pass on a cocktail. And I know my family has no idea (to those relatives reading...surprise).

I will still raise an occasional glass, but I'm more selective as to when and where. A beer at a concert with friends? Sure! Favorite cocktail at one of my fave hangouts? One please! Glass of bubbly to toast a job well done? Absolutely.

But that's it. One. Some days, I won't lie. It's difficult. It's my nature to always keep going. But I've learned to pass on another. Guess it's true - sometimes less is more.