This weekend, GTB and I hosted a small BBQ for a few friends. As I made the pre-party run for bags of ice, I fantasized about the beer I would crack open as soon as I got home. It was hot as fuck outside, and a nice cold brewsky was just what the doctor ordered. Then I remembered that MY doctor, or at least my OB/GYN, would probably disagree. As the evening wore on, my husband and friends got more jovial, more boisterous, and more tolerant of the heat. I sat there swollen, sober, and hating it.

And that’s when I realized something both terrifying and heartbreaking: I will have to go all summer without a drink.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the pregnant woman’s occasional white wine spritzer or swig off of GTB’s beer. My friend the-doctor-who-is-also-a-mother told me it’s OK, and I trust her completely. But last summer’s nights of sitting around the firepit, drinking whatever cocktail I could construct out of what we have in our liquor cabinet combined with what we have in the fridge, going to bed before all the guests have gone home because I’m one of those fun drunks who doesn’t puke but does fall asleep midsentence, will not be repeated during the summer of 2008, i.e. the Summer of Signe.

Honestly, I don’t think I’m that much of an alcoholic, but the idea of surviving the next 70 days (and then some, if you consider how warm it stays through September and the fact that I’ll be breastfeeding then) sans whiskey sours, margaritas, and ice cold Miller Lights makes me weep.

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