Why Do I Always Have a Glass of Wine in my Hand?


I’ve discovered an alarming trend in my four year old daughter’s pictures of me lately: in almost every single one, I am holding, sipping, or otherwise engaging with a glass or bottle of wine.

The moment this thought occurred to me, after she’d shown me the third picture she’d drawn of me this week, I gasped audibly.

What must she think of me?

What impression am I giving her about a healthy relationship with alcohol?

What will future civilisations think of us (okay, me) when they discover these drawings in two thousand years’ time?

It’s just me too. Dad is usually pictured swinging a tennis racquet, her brother is often wielding a sword and fighting dragons, and her sister just sits serenely staring at bunches of flowers.

But not Mum. All Mum cares about is wine.

Now, I’ll admit, I am fond of wine. My daughter would see me drinking wine a couple of evenings a week. I am probably at my most relaxed and fun on those evenings too, let’s face it.

But it’s not like I’m helping tie her shoes for kindy each morning with a wine glass in one hand, nor am I unable to ever hug her properly because I don’t want to put down my wine.

I live a balanced and healthy lifestyle. I run four times a week and do yoga twice a week. But do you see pictures of me running or downward dogging? No.

I cook every bloody night of the week, but where are the pictures of me cooking? Or other things I do with alarming regularity like picking up somebody else’s socks, replacing the toilet roll even though I wasn’t the one to finish it, or picking up books off the floor so everyone will stop walking on them.

But then, when the defensive mode wore off, I realised my daughter’s pictures are pure fantasy. As much as my husband likes to talk about what a tennis ace he is, he hasn’t played a game in months.

My son hasn’t slayed any dragons in his lifetime, to my knowledge. And I’m pretty sure my older daughter does not make a habit of staring serenely at bunches of flowers.

Where do these ideas come from? I have no idea, but I’ve resolved not to worry about them while they bear no similarity to our actual lives. I just won’t go showing them around at school.



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