From Bottles to Bottles

"Mommy, will you take our order?" my four- year old yells from her chair. She smiles broadly as I run off to the kitchen to prepare her peach slices, my two- year old son's Frosted Flakes, and check on the biscuits I have in the oven. As I explain to an insistent and angry toddler that the biscuits have to cook and I can only bring them so fast, my 15 years in the Bar and Restaurant industry serve me well. I might as well be back at Waffle House denying a tipsy clubber his biscuits and sausage gravy at 3 am. Somehow my sober son manages to be more belligerent, but he is no match for me, who has distracted and calmed him by the time he realizes he has a biscuit in front of him. With the pandemic, illness, and baby number three forcing my hand into full restaurant and bar retirement, I thought embracing my stay-at-home mom persona would change me and found it was not much different than managing the bar on a busy night. I break up fights, people fall over a lot, and I'm cleaning up more vomit than anybody is paying me for. I'm still up at three am, I have to cut people off because they will drink chocolate milk until they throw up, and the newborn gets really handsy.

I initially fought to keep working part-time after my second child. I was so lonely in the house all day with nobody to talk to but a tiny person who randomly twirls in the middle of sentences. I was exhausted and sad and desperate for adult interaction. My husband and I were taken by surprise at how sad when it all came spilling out at our dining room table in front of our friends over a bottle of vodka. I woke up to a somber spouse who made promises to help around the house more that wouldn't be kept until the pandemic forced him to. I wasted a lot of time and money in the pursuit of being a part of the bar scene. I picked up shifts on my husband's days off and found myself loitering long after I was off, not because I didn't want to go home but because I got caught up in adult conversation and feeling like a real person outside of just a mom. I needed to learn how to be okay with myself to be by myself and be able to stay at home with my children without resenting my husband for being gone all day. I never wanted to get to the point where I resented my children. I had to fight off the depression that was sneaking up on me to tell me lies. The lie that once I became a mother I ceased to exist lifted, and suddenly I could see myself in the mirror again.

I was led by faith towards the revelation that everything I needed was within myself and I could stop searching for validation in others. I had to work on loving myself to become a better mother and a better wife for two reasons. To be an example to my children, I have to show them what self-love and confidence look like. And I can't pour into my children or my marriage if I am pouring from an empty cup. Once I realized that how I talk to myself and treat myself my children will see and mimic, I started to search for ways to learn how to treat myself better. Through art, meditation, and prayer, I began to carve out a new image of myself, separate from the mommy figure I had become swallowed by. I have been committed to getting my body to a figure before I was pregnant for four years in a row. I have also been practicing putting on makeup for the first time in thirty-three years. I want to feel beautiful again so I can have the confidence I need to send my husband racy texts at work. I got tired of being empty. So when the pandemic took the bar away, I filled myself up and I make it a priority to keep myself filled. That is how I fill everyone else.

So my new regulars are loud and don't like to keep their pants on. I am always in overtime and I never get to go to the bathroom. My coworker is always working a shift at his other job and my customers get rowdy with a couple of rounds of juice in them. But, of all the jobs I have ever had, this is the best one. It is the most fulfilling because I switched the focus from outside of myself to inside of myself. So when I put my sore feet up at the end of the day, I am less mad that they told me they loved me and didn't tip. This is the only time in fifteen years that the verbal tip is way better.