Prohibition's over. After ten months of sparkling water and worryingly draining amounts of Hetch Hetchy in this dry winter, Baleen had her first bit of alcohol last night. For the first time back in the saddle, she had the full trinity of options: any of the liquors in our cabinet, the open white wine that Gigi left a glass of, or any one of four beers in the fridge: Budwesier, Anchor Steam, Fat Tire and Shiner Bock Black Lager.
It might have been because of our relations in the Republic of Texas or because of what the nurses told us, that the self-justifying Irish have shown in scientific studies that a good, dark stout has beneficial effects on breastmilk, but she went with the Shiner Bock, taking only a few sips and leaving the rest to this happy father.
If it felt a little odd to have a beer for the first time in so long, then it felt even odder to have it at 6.15 on a Monday night, the same time that she used to leave work down there in Silicon Valley. But that's not how we should think of 6.15 anymore, or at least not for the next few months. 6.15 is the new 9.15, that is, just an hour or two before our bedtime.
It might have been because of our relations in the Republic of Texas or because of what the nurses told us, that the self-justifying Irish have shown in scientific studies that a good, dark stout has beneficial effects on breastmilk, but she went with the Shiner Bock, taking only a few sips and leaving the rest to this happy father.
If it felt a little odd to have a beer for the first time in so long, then it felt even odder to have it at 6.15 on a Monday night, the same time that she used to leave work down there in Silicon Valley. But that's not how we should think of 6.15 anymore, or at least not for the next few months. 6.15 is the new 9.15, that is, just an hour or two before our bedtime.
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