I’m a Marijuana Mom

Sarah Eyre

I’m a mom and I use marijuana. I know, it’s a shocker, right?
When I read that Jane couldn’t get anyone to write about pot-smoking moms who are tired of being judged by wine drinkers, I thought: OH, SHIT, THEY ARE PLAYING MY SONG. My ability to drink is severely limited due to the medications I take, but I use marijuana on a daily basis. Sure, I take it medically for spasticity and insomnia, but I’m a daily user, and I don’t hide it from anyone, and I have many thoughts on this subject, people.
When I was growing up, my mother kept one of those large, gallon-sized jugs of white Zinfandel in the refrigerator at all times. You know the ones — with the thumbhole, to keep it super-classy. My mom wasn’t an alcoholic; she was just a lower-middle-class woman with a small amount of disposable income, four children (and frequently foster children, often in sibling groups), and almost no free time who needed to have alcohol readily available at all times, because her ability to leave the house was seriously hindered by her responsibilities at home. I get it.
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