THE LAST HANGOVER

It took a lifetime of wake-up calls for self-confessed party girl and young mum Victoria Vanstone to consider swapping her booze-fuelled binges for a liquor-free life

Fancy a night out?” asked one of the playgroup mums as she squeezed a yoghurt into her toddler’s mouth. One question was all the elbow twisting I needed. “Yes, I’d love that.” My baby was six weeks old. The pregnancy had been a much-needed holiday from the mayhem I’d created. The drinking stopped the moment I knew I was pregnant, and I had a beautiful window of sobriety where I was able to socialise without the risk of anxiety or shame. I loved it. And, of course, my pregnancy meant the anxiety monster had vanished. “This is it,” I said to my husband. “I know drinking has been making me mentally unwell. I’m going to cut down.”

All the chaos would be over. Another baby. Another chance for me to be the mum I always planned to be. I had a baby girl, Nell. As she was so small, we had to feed her with a tube. I again stayed up all night to squeeze minute amounts of milk from grazed, cracked nipples. My days were long and hard, with a three-year-old and the demands of a baby.

Before I knew it, my old habit started to creep up on me. The pressure and tiredness that came with becoming a mum again made me hanker for relief.

I felt excited getting ready. I would be having a break from it all. A moment of me. I decided to drink no more than three glasses of wine. I couldn’t risk the monster returning.

Just a few quiet drinks … then home. At the local bar, the third drink was down the hatch within an hour of arriving. I swayed and danced around the room, with my mummy tummy flopping over the top of my trousers. I chatted and downed beers. I tripped over and smoked cigarettes. I told a man with a ZZ Top beard that I had a newborn baby. He looked at me with concern and said, “What are you doing here then?”

I looked at my watch. It was past midnight. I zig-zagged home.