Martini Memories

The wedding I attended in Miami Beach was great on many, many levels. The bride was a good friend from high school. The ceremony was short, sweet, and romantic. The food was delish. I got to see high school friends I haven't seen in years (sorry, Willie, that I didn't recognize you!). The music was rockin'. I got to dance with my lovely cousins Milo and Annie. Okay, okay. I know these are all nice. But, you're thinking, there's got to more. And there was. There was the Holy Grail of weddings. There was... a martini bar. Oh, the martini bar. Those of you who have been reading since before my baby days know how I feel about the martini. The martini is perfection in a glass. It must be a true martini, meaning gin, never vodka. Dry, but not extra dry. And olives. Maybe even extra olives. I knew about this martini bar ahead of time. And I planned for it. Because when you're a mom, drinking is never an impulse decision. So I loaded up my mother (who babysat the Doodlebug while I was at said wedding) with pumped breast milk and formula--enough for about five days of food for the Doodlebug. I packed my breast pump in my purse for the infamous pump 'n' dump. And I entered the reception where I had my first martini since January 4 (not that I'm counting, although I will say that I found out I was pregnant on January 5). It was heavenly. I couldn't wait for my next one. Because I was prepared. However, I didn't count on the fact that the one martini was going to make me lightheaded and tipsy. And after an additional half a glass of toasting champagne, I was done drinking for the night. Whoo hoo! Party girl had a whole drink! One friggin' martini. I am so out of practice. The plus side is that one drink does not a pump 'n' dump make, so the Doodlebug got his first taste of a real drink. I hope this toughens him up.