It wasn’t her first Mother’s Day. In fact, the discussion between the couple revolving around child care had already been happening even before the first Ramos fizzes were ordered.

A brief discussion about egg whites, the cost of eggs and aquafaba briefly ensued. Often with drinks, the specifics get lost in the muck.

“Does anyone know what makes bourbon bourbon?” asked a presenter at a local whiskey-tasting event recently.

Not one of the gathered aficionados raised their hands. Not one. And that’s telling.

So it was with her fizz, the most Mother’s Day of all brunch drinks: eggs and milk. Oh, and gin. Whole eggs? Egg whites? Or even aquafaba? Who really knows? Or cares? Probably someone on Reddit. Meanwhile, in the real world, things just keep happening.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” said the man. “She already loves you. After all, you’re the mother to her only grandchild. And she just traveled 3,000 miles to be here.”

The young mother put down her phone.

“Sorry, I was just making sure she had her nap,” said the new mom, as new moms so often do.

“You’re the best mother in the world,” said the young man reassuringly.

As if on cue, his mother arrived, blowing past the host stand, through the two people talking, and right up to the couple.

“I’ve had a day,” she said, plopping a big luxury shopping bag on the bar.

“Three bloody marys,” she barked at the bartender, making him jump ever so slightly. “And don’t skimp on the booze.”

“But, Mom, we already have drinks,” replied the young father.

“Those aren’t drinks,” she said, scoffing. “It’s my day, and I say we drink bloody marys.”

Three bloody marys appeared on the bar.

“But, I don’t like tomato juice,” said the younger mother.

The man just looked at her helplessly.

Mom talked about her day. Her entire day — every exacting detail of every moment of her day, up to that very second.

“I gave the man a $100 bill, and he said he couldn’t make change. What kind of place can’t make change for a $100 bill?” she asked, rhetorically, because the younger mother started to say something but stopped when Mom abruptly stopped talking and stared at her intently.

“Just let her finish,” said the man.The young mother looked at her nearly empty Ramos fizz and then picked up the bloody mary, draining half of it in one gulp. The young father looked at her, picked up his bloody mary and did the same.

“Your table is ready,” said the hostess, interrupting.

“Can’t you see I’m talking?” said Mom, waving her away.

Being Mother’s Day, the biggest of the two biggest brunches — Easter is the other — the hostess had plenty of other mothers to attend to — unlike Father’s Day. A valet once told me that he hated Father’s Day brunch the most because he was the last person Dad had to “grease” on his way out the door. But this was Mother’s Day, or more specifically, one Mother’s Day.

Appetizers were ordered without discussion. And when they arrived, Mom put out her hand for the plate before the server could set it down. A brief tug-of-war happened between the two, resulting in a shrimp falling off of the plate.

“Now see what you’ve done?” said Mom, right before she put her elbow in the sauce on the crammed-in plate.

The server’s look said, “I told you so.”

“Can you believe her?” said Mom about the server still standing there while also moving the shrimp plate in front of the young mother.

“Didn’t you say you were allergic?” asked the server, trying to move the plate back.

“I did,” said the young mother.

The server’s look now said something else entirely.

This preamble to the brunch went on for some time. There was a diatribe about the valet at the hotel and a monologue about the woman at the front desk, all followed by a soliloquy about the maids at said hotel.

What never did come up was children, motherhood or mothering in general, which seemed kind of strange considering the day.

“I’m so glad you didn’t bring the baby,” said Mom about an hour in, watching her daughter-in-law texting on her phone. “Babies have a way of ruining brunch.”

“My mother was happy to have her,” replied the younger mother.

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• Can a baby ruin Mother’s Day? Asking for a friend.

• Anna Jarvis, the woman who established Mother’s Day, was adamant that it remain spelled as a “singular possessive,” meaning that the day wasn’t about mothers in general, but about each family’s mother specifically.

• Jarvis, the hero of Mother’s Day, never had any children of her own.

• Gin was once called “mother’s ruin,” not a great thing for their marketing department.

• Sometimes being 3,000 miles away is the best thing possible.

• Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there — every single one of them.

Jeff Burkhart is the author of “Twenty Years Behind Bars: The Spirited Adventures of a Real Bartender, Vol. I and II,” the host of the Barfly Podcast on iTunes (as seen in the NY Times) and an award-winning bartender at a local restaurant. Follow him at jeffburkhart.net and contact him at jeffbarflyIJ@outlook.com