The First Party

My daughter Pinky's arrival was dramatic and unexpected.  Dramatic (shocking?) because after a plan to make her birth (due date June 10, marriage date December 31) seem like a premature one, she entered the world way ahead of time and blew my plans for a cover up. Genius idea: we got married on New Year's Eve so that if you didn't pay attention you'd think a year had passed between that ceremony and her birthday a mere two and a half months later, March 18, whoops.  Unexpected because she really was three months early and weighed under two and a half pounds.   This tininess is the origin of her nickname, Pinky, the smallest finger on a hand.
After three tense months the hospital released her*.  Pinky's first appearance in society came at her Grandmother's Bal Masqué in tents in the garden with dancing and music by Lester Lanin himself. Coincidentally, the party took place on Pinky's due date, June 10 (she was by then 3 months old and weighed 4 lbs) .

Lamb to the Slaughter

She lay in state in the living room, babysitter/attendant by her side, in a yellow gingham Moses Basket and a tiny matching yellow dress; revelers filed by to pay their respects.  It was the first time I had had a drink since my pregnancy and I refused nothing, danced the whole time and almost died when I had to wake up at 6 a.m. to feed her (my husband and I had a pact; because he could go back to sleep easily he had the shift before 6 a.m., and I had the hours after, not a bad plan under normal circumstances).  Tragically for me it was a day, remembered still, that was the hottest on record.  That is particularly relevant as my in-laws didn't believe in air conditioning, which deepened the effect of the morning's hangover.  I was the anti-madonna, cradling my sweet little baby while I made many unflattering trips to the bathroom, head pounding.

The Devil's Drink, Cognac

Right there at the beginning we started our tradition of grandiose plans with unanticipated consequences.
If you want to live to see another day don't end your evening with cognac, no matter how good.  I haven't touched it since.  Instead try this recipe for a delicious and simple champagne cocktail invented in Paris by Hemmingway's favorite bartender at the Ritz, aptly titled Death in the Afternoon.  For me it was Death in the Morning.
One Champagne Flute
Half a Thimble of Pernod
Champagne or Prosecco (I prefer prosecco as it has a low alcohol content)
It's important to use a sparing hand with the pernod or the drink becomes too sweet.  A friend of mine can testify that this recipe somehow sustains one through many hours of afternoon languor with no ill effect.

*It was a stressful time waiting for her to be strong enough to leave the hospital.  No one really knew if it was wise to celebrate or plan in any way.  At the time, statistically, only 25% of early births were survived, and of those, only 25% of the survivors got through it without problems.  We were incredibly fortunate and I always include a prayer of thanks for that in my bedtime rituals.