By Jessica Guerrieri 

I did a very cool thing. 

Without any struggle, I convinced five of my best mom-friends to escape to Mexico with me in honor of my ten-year sobriety anniversary. We’d create our own version of The Real Housewives—only sober. That would mean zero airtime, since Bravo’s bread-and-butter is drunken buffoonery, but who cares?

So, we left all 13 of our children with our partners and embarked on a trip of a lifetime—one we now plan on recreating every year. 

I researched all the ways to experience bourgeoisie-ness sans alcohol. Initially, we were given the side-eye when, upon arrival, our driver offered us Coronas. Those of us who were fluent in Spanish tried to explain that no, we were celebrating my recovery and the unique bond we had formed as we mothered during the pandemic. But when he said, “OK, but can you still drink Tequila?” I was pretty sure he did not understand.

Since the ocean is my love language, I wanted to rent a place that was smack dab on the beach. So I found an Airbnb that was literally built on sand—my engineering husband’s worst architectural nightmare but my dream come true. It was magical. We swam in an ocean the temperature of bathwater. We walked down hidden alleys decorated with colorful papel picados strung overhead, and discovered food trucks that served us authentic Mexican fare. We even brought a yoga instructor to the house and had a private class during what ended up being the most spectacular sunset of our trip. 

Of course, I recognize how incredibly privileged I am to have the money and resources to even afford a trip away, not to mention a partner who supported a very busy home-life with three young daughters while I was gone. And I am grateful. Every, single moment of my time in Mexico, I remembered to say to myself, “Stop! Look how lucky you are!” I’ve spent ten years inside the recognition that I should have died from the disease of addiction. So the enormity of my gratitude is no small thing.

I arrived state-side empowered, ready to take on the world—and infected with norovirus. It spread like wildfire through the family. All five of us slept in the bathroom for a week straight. 

In a classic amateur-mom move, I texted my friends after we recovered: “Mexico gave me the strength not only to handle what felt like a mental-health test, but, dare I say, thrive under it? Ok not thrive…but I had patience, fortitude, and grace during the entire ordeal.” 

Looking back at my smugness, I can’t say I deserved to get lice. However, it did appear that the universe wished to extend the testing of my motherly patience. Even though we are now norovirus- and lice-free, I told my husband that it would be safer for everyone if he hid my passport. I’m one mental-health test away from fleeing back to the land of warm waters and stunning sunsets. But I’ll wait—‘til next year.

Jessica Guerrieri is a mom, humorist, and writer. Find her at witandspitup.com and on Instagram @witandspitup.