I miss fun, playful, sober Mom. But I don’t miss the mother of sloppy kisses and elaborate rituals, excuses, drunken I love yous, falling asleep on the couch before supper, spending money on booze so we can’t pay our bills, gone all night and no one knows where, gone all week and When's she coming back? from the girls.

 

Since I can remember, there’s been a steady drumbeat in my brain: I hate you, I love you, don’t leave us, come back.

 

She’s always come back. We just never know when, or what she’ll be like. ​Drunk Mom is my least favorite Mom.