Catherine Belknap - Cat and Nats Mom Secrets : Coffee-Fueled Confessions from the Mom Trenches

Its the kind of moment that feels like a dream. Im backstage, in a different country, with my best friend in the world, Cat, about to put on the very first show of a business weve created together. Its all I can think as I hear the crowd just meters away, on the other side of the curtain, give a loud cheer. They roar. The music thrums, the lights sparkle. Time seems to pause, and a supercut of the months leading up to this moment flashes in my mind. Endless phone calls, family strategizing, text threads with Cat, freezing meals, planning playdates, talking to our team, coordinating carpools, business meetings, day planners full of schedule shifts.

And now, here we are. At the Tobin Center in San Antonio, mere moments and steps away from hundreds of fans who have come here for us. For us, and for themselves. To be swept away by a night of glitz and laughs. To make us a part of their real livesnot just their idle scrolling. And I want to make this night the perfect escape for them, an escape from their own endless text threads planning playdates and day planners full of scheduling mathematics worthy of NASA.

Suddenly, it seems almost ridiculous. We have no script. Were just two moms who make each other laugh. What if it doesnt translate to the big stage? My body revolts against me. Palms sweating, heart quickening in time with the rising beat of the DJ, breath getting tight, legs unsteady. This feels like more than stage fright. Its panic, the disastrous possibility of letting these people in the audience down. They arranged babysitters for this. We need to make it worth the babysitters fees and the guilt for taking a night off from their kids. Can we do this? I feel dizzy.

I turn to grab Cats hand. As I try to mouth HELP, which my tense muscles can barely manage to articulate, she breaks into a huge, face-splitting grin.

IM DRUNK! she says, laughing and glittering.

For most people, this would be the final straw that turns a near breakdown to a full-on panic attack. But its me, and its Cat. Seeing her laugh gleefully and mischievously, without a care in the world, put me right back into the spirit of this thing. We were here to take away feelings of nerves, guilt, anxiety, and stress. We were here to alleviate all the things that make women, mothers, and parents feel not good enough. We were here to be ourselvesthats what these people came for! Who knows why, but they want our messy, beautiful, silly, inappropriate, wildand, apparently, drunkselves. Weve never promised to be perfector even sober, I guess. Were just them, with microphones.

The beginning of our intro song starts to play, and my insides swell with anticipation. Its showtime. And this show did have quite an unexpected twist to it, but not at all in the way we expected.

But before we go any further, let us tell you about how we got to that moment in the first place.

After grueling preparations to make sure our families survived our absence, Cat and I are sitting pretty. More specifically, sitting pretty on a plane, Texas-bound for the first leg of our multi-city tour, and eagerly signaling the flight attendant over for some beverages. Were reeling from the fact that hundreds of people have paid real, actual money to see us live, but relieved we made our flight at all. Finally, we let out a sigh of relief. All the planning has paid off, and now its just time to carry out those plans. On theme with our first stop, we order some tequila cocktails to celebrate.

Unfortunately, we opted for the extravagantly expensive in-flight Wi-Fione of those inventions you think is going to make your life so much better, but actually makes it so much worse. Youre supposed to be unavailable for those glorious hours on a plane! Who allowed that to change! A few sips in, we decide we should post some fun pre-show, en-route pictures on our social media to get our fans excited for the tour.

But the internet giveth and the internet taketh away.

Across the aisle, our beloved Sam, tour team leader, is also connecting to Wi-Fi. She gives us a pained look, and at first we think its just because she spent the past half hour puking into a paper bag (eight weeks pregnant, unbeknownst to us), but then we realize its more than sickness.

Gals, I just got an email, she says. Our whole team of male strippers have come down with the flu.

This was pre-COVID, so the flu qualified as a major disaster. We never expected smooth sailing (after all, its us), but wed already lost out on the hottest DJ in Texassome shirtless cowboy who was booked until next centuryand had to replace him with a wedding DJ our sweet assistant booked because he sounded nice.

We order another round of drinksnot celebration drinks this timenerve-calming drinks. Please-God-let-us-find-hot-guys-to-dance-for-the-moms drinks.

We open up our laptops and start frantically googling. I type in last minute hot male strippers and see Cat type emergency hot guys for rent. Were trying everything we can: 24/7 men dancers, strippers available TONIGHT SAN ANTONIO HELP. Because we need the hot strippers. A cardboard cutout of Channing Tatum just wont do. (How does one get one of those hologram projectors they use to bring back dead celebrities?) No. We promised hundreds of moms living, breathing, gyrating, and, above all, hot strippers. They juggled their schedules, booked babysitters, meal-prepped, got dressed up, and paid for Ubers for this. We are not going to let them down, no matter how bleak the options for no-notice San Antonio hotties looks.

We land in Texas, and our team has decided we should do a little sightseeing to get a feel for the area before the show tonight. But all we can think about is hot half-naked men and its making us miserable. Finally, we get word that someone knows someone who knows someone else who has a hookup for replacement strippers. Beggars cant be choosers, so were like, Okay, good enough for us!