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The Fallen Teetotaler

Candy's Column

The Fallen Teetotaler

FirstDrink Eleven months ago, waaaaay back when Bush was still president and Kendra was still pretending to have sex with Hef, I got those two pink lines on the pregnancy test and saw a beautiful life flash before my eyes — the end of my beautiful PARTY life, that is.

Not wanting my child to be born with two heads, because that’s the kind of caring mother I am, I completely abstained from alcohol during my pregnancy.

This was no small sacrifice, considering my five food groups once consisted of White Russians (milk), Bloody Marys (veggies), vodka (rice, breads), wine (fruit), and, of course, baskets of bar nuts (nuts, eggs and meat).

Mr. Candy had vowed to abstain with me, despite my protests declaring it unnecessary.  In fact, I believe I said something supportive like, “That’s fucking stupid.  Why WOULDN’T you drink?”

But Mr. Candy was indignant, insisting he would not have any desire to drink while I was with child.  None at all!   Fast forward three weeks to Mr. Candy’s office holiday party.  Who was ordering round after round of tequila shots?  Yes, you know who.  And his middle name is “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!”

Now that the little chica is here, I’m finally able to indulge a little bit myself.  As many of you know, last night I partook of my VERY FIRST DRINK since becoming pregnant.  Happy Birthday to me.  Thanks to all of my trusty Cocktail Consultants for your libation suggestions.  Because it was Arthur Guinness’ 284th birthday yesterday — and today is my 22nd birthday (*AHEM*) — it only seemed appropriate to toast my return to alcohol with, yes, a Guinness.  Followed by part of a margarita at the lovely dinner that Mr. Candy and I shared.  I’m still breastfeeding, so I wasn’t ready to commit to a serious relationship with Señor Cuervo again just yet.  But our brief dalliance was oh so sweet.

I even survived leaving Miss Skye with the babysitter for a couple of hours.   And I only mentioned her twenty-five thousand times during dinner!

Mr. Candy offered to watch the little one today while I pamper myself with a facial and mani/pedi.  Um, hell yeah!  He barely got the words out of his mouth before I was on the phone booking appointments.  I can’t believe I’m about to admit this, people, but I have not touched my nails since my pre-labor beauty session — not even to REMOVE the nail polish.  My toenails are so long, that if I had wings I could spear fish from a lake.  True story.  On second thought, why am I cutting them?  What a party trick that would be!

While I leave you with that visual… have a great weekend!

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Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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