I came really close to having a glass of white wine on Saturday. Surprised and a little disconcerted by how nonchalant I felt about it at the moment.
C had the day to himself, with me taking the boys on a play date with two other moms & their kids from the PreK program. We had a great time, playground, beach, public market lunch, even ran into another friend from their class.
Boys were exhausted after the long morning and ended up taking a 3-hour nap in the afternoon, leaving C and I the luxury of relaxing and snacking on the first course of an extended dinner C had planned while we were away: oysters and shrimp.
And of course, he pulled out a crisp, chilled bottle of white to go with it.
It looked perfectly delicious. I knew it would pair well with the oysters, and with the strenuous morning behind me and the boys happily napping, it felt like the optimal time to enjoy a glass.
I found myself reaching for his glass, “just for a taste”. Then, wondering why not have a glass? I’d be able to stop at one, right? There’s nothing wrong with one glass, right?
But I stopped myself. Why? Because I know that for me, even if I’d be able to stop at one that time, the next time it would be harder, and the time after that even harder.
Right now, it’s easy just to say No. Black & white. No blurred lines, no counting drinks per week, no feeling like shit the next morning when I realize I gave in to the urge and fell completely off the wagon.
So I enjoyed the oysters, and continued making dinner salad while sipping on sparkling water.