Milk residue slides down the outside of my wine glass, catching my eye like annoying glare from the sun. Motherhood has made it’s way to my personal space, my moment, my pool of happy thoughts; my wine.
It is my personal belief that the wine glass itself is at least fifty percent of the experience. The stem, bowl and streak free glass all together help a person embark on a beautiful wine journey. My journey is now tainted and as I look down at my hands with crusted formula stuck to my thumbs I consider perhaps, that I was so jealous of my baby and his freshly made up bottles that I somehow bypassed the opportunity to wash my hands and instead went straight to the fridge and poured myself a glass of freedom.