One night a few weeks ago I was out with my mom friends. The lot of us have children that range between toddlerhood and school-age. On the rare occasion of getting out the door childless and dressed in something other than grimy sweats and sneakers, I relish in the moments when I get to unwind with like-minded people and engage in conversations that don’t revolve around fart jokes or dinosaurs.

Somewhere between waiting for our food and one glass of Merlot, I stared into the empty glass and muttered so quietly under my breath “I could go for a joint right now.” I guess I wasn’t so quiet as the table fell silent; eyes now upon me. It was like high school fifth period all over again – when that one sneaky fart slips out during the only rare moment of silence.

“You smoke pot?” The hyper, type-A mom with the freakishly clean house asked me. Her judgey and questionable expression made me feel like I confessed to snorting Molly right before I met with my pimp. 

“I do,” I stated, confidentially. For what felt like seven hours, everyone around me was still. The bustling noises around us of busy Saturday night rang through the restaurant. Type-A Mom gave me sort of the stink eye while swirling her nine-ounce glass of something-I-can’t-pronounce which ironically, she clings to every night in the comfort of her own sofa. 

I felt a strong urge to run to the bathroom, afraid my bladder was about to betray me at any moment.

Just when I felt like I was going to melt into my seat out of pure shame, my dear friend to my right (we can call her Leigh) perked up. 

“You know what, I could go for one too!” she did her fascinating guffaw and eye wink. After that, the table loosened. Confessions of pot-smoking seemed to pour all around. 

“Do you do it often?” Jenny with the twins asked me, eyes sparkling.

By then, I was loose enough to be open and honest, I mean, the cat was around out of the bag, why not? 

“Weekly. I consider it my glass of wine.”

Type-A got hyper again. “What about your kids?” By now her right eye was twitching; hand firmly planted on her stem glass like a security blanket. 

I giggled. “My kids are secure in their beds, always sleeping before I smoke. Where are your kids when you settle down for your nightly glass?” It was a question meant to be light, but I knew she took a great offense to that. A few more crickets before she settled into a nervous laugh.

Quickly, the topic was changed. Everyone ordered another round of expensive wine and the conversation shifted to fundraisers and potty training. 

I hunted down Type-A outside after and apologized if I had offended her; explaining how my newfound tokin’ brain felt relaxed to say whatever shit was on my mind, pretty or not.

“No, I am sorry. I made you out to seem like some unfit mother when what I do is much worse!” She looked a little embarrassed as the words poured out of her mouth, a little slurred, and I was grateful she called an Uber. 

We hugged, the misunderstanding already over, and I was elated for some reason going home that night. Not that I owe any explanation for how I live my life, but I would never want anyone to deem me an unfit mother.

The next day, Leah private messaged me to confide in how admitting I toke up weekly was badass AF. Merely, I imagined it was because weed is awesome in general, but her reasoning was because mothers are automatically put into this box that every wife, mom (women in general) is a wino. Congrats on the little tyke! Here’s your manual – study up on the best wines since you’re going to need it for the next 18 years.

“Drinking every night is worse than smoking a joint once a week! Don’t worry about judgment. I got you.” I was grateful for friends like Leah and grateful that the stigma around marijuana was closer to being extinct, however not close enough, considering how Type-A’s knee-jerk reaction was to shame me for smoking. 

Don’t think I’m here to bash my fellow wine-drinking friends. I’m only a white token mom who wants to end the stigma of marijuana. Guys, it’s fucking amazing. My anxiety and depression have decreased ten-fold; I can lay off the strong pharmaceutical medications for my back pain. I’m happier, which is worth its weight in gold.

I used to be a wino. Relax every single night with a fruity, dry or fizzy alcoholic beverage in my hand. It got me through the day to know that when 7 p.m. hits, I could indulge in my favorite thing ever. In the long run, wine made me miserable – moody, more prone to lash out at the smallest things, anxiety spiked to a whole new level and just plain depressed. Through my terrible moody fits (and wine headaches the next day), I came across some realization that drinking a bottle of wine a night isn’t healthy. Call it divine intervention, but I quit cold-turkey. Marijuana doesn’t betray me like that. I feel more calm, peaceful – and the best thing? No hangover the next day.

Those green plants are jam-packed with awesomeness. Studies have shown that marijuana helps fight depression, manages chronic pain, regulates seizures, helps with ADD/ADHD, alleviates anxiety and… the list goes on!

Besides weed being illegal (dependent on where you live) the benefits far outweigh the risks. So toke up; chill out. Unwind. With a joint.

 

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An amazing collection of bright women who somehow manage to work, play, parent and survive and write blog posts all at the same time. We are the BLUNTmoms, always honest, always direct and surprising hilarious.

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