Postpartum, Pinot, and the Pandemic: A Love Story (Sort Of)

Let’s set the scene: It’s 2020. The world is shut down, I just gave birth to my first baby, and I haven’t slept in what feels like 35 years. I’m leaking from places I didn’t know could leak, the baby won’t latch, and the laundry pile has developed sentience. My body feels like it’s been through a war (because…it has), and my hormones are doing the cha-cha with my sanity.

Enter: wine.

At first, it was a cute little evening ritual. Just a glass – okay, sometimes two – of Pinot Grigio to “take the edge off” after a long day of diaper blowouts, cluster feeding, and existential dread. You know, self-care wink wink. But then days blurred into weeks, and wine o’clock crept earlier and earlier. The pandemic made sure no one was visiting, and I wasn’t going anywhere – so who cared if I had a buzz at 3pm on a Tuesday?

Somehow, I blinked and it was 2022. I was now a mom of three under three – because life thought it would be hilarious to throw a surprise set of twins into the mix two and a half years after my son was born. I love them more than life itself, but let me tell you: going from one baby to three was like being promoted from lifeguard to captain of a sinking cruise ship. No training. No warning. Just vibes. And spit-up.

So yeah, wine and I? We got real close. But the problem was, I started to depend on it. Wine became my coping mechanism, my reward, my escape. But slowly, it also became a fog that dulled the joy in everything else. I was numbing out, but I wasn’t feeling better. I wasn’t really feeling anything at all.

One day, somewhere between the third rewatch of Bluey and Googling “is it normal to cry while hiding in the bathroom?” I had a moment. A quiet, honest, terrifying moment. I realized I wasn’t okay. And more importantly – I didn’t want this to be my story. So, I started small. I told a close friend what was going on (scary, but SO worth it). I found a counselor. I started talking about my postpartum experience out loud instead of trying to stuff it down with Pinot Grigio. And slowly, the fog started to lift.

I didn’t transform overnight. I’m still in recovery. Some days are harder than others. There are still triggers, cravings, and moments where I wish I could just “shut it all off.” But now I have tools. I have support. I have a version of me I’m proud of building – even if I’m still under construction. I look back at that version of me with so much compassion. She was doing the best she could with the tools she had. And I’m grateful to her for surviving so I could have a chance to thrive.

If you’re reading this and any of it sounds familiar, know this: you’re not broken, you’re not weak, and you’re definitely not alone. Motherhood is hard. Isolation is hard. Being human is hard. But there’s so much beauty on the other side of the fog. And sometimes, the first step to finding your light again…is just putting down the glass.

With love,

Jenn