There was a time when I slung beers to frat boys to pay my rent back in my college days, so I know a thing or two about intoxicated people. Their tequila-fueled feelings span both ends of the emotional spectrum. From the overly confident karaoke singer to the self-loathing cynic, I have seen it all. Now that I'm the mom of two boys, one of whom is a toddler, I find myself witnessing similar behavior on a day-to-day basis. I have been showered with hugs for simply supplying fruit cups, and (later the same day) shunned for not allowing my 2-year-old to use the power drill to disassemble his Cozy Coupe. Apparently not granting my child permission to use power tools before he can even urinate independently makes me an a**hole.
The everyday, unpredictable ups and downs have got me feeling quite nostalgic for my days tending bar. It’s almost as if while debating with my irrational toddler, I’m dealing with the same emotional instability of that collar-popping, fist-pumping d-bag who could drink his weight in Jager bombs. And it's got me thinking: Maybe my days behind the bar oddly prepared me for motherhood. Toddlers and drunks really aren’t so different after all.