I had a wild night last night. I lived it up; I drank enough to get tipsy and caught up with friends. I had a good time.
In my mind’s eye my night looked like this:
But, c’mon you guys. I’m a mom!
This is what I actually did.
After SR went to bed, I watched a chick flick, enjoyed some adult beverages and IMed a few friends on Facebook.
My younger self would be disappointed, but I enjoyed my evening. I’m not the party animal I used to be, and yet, somehow this is what I felt like this morning:
I felt like I had been run over by a truck. My wild night of drinking alone attacked me with a vengenge. I felt like I had consumed an entire bottle of Jack Daniels.
In actuality, my alcohol consumption had been two beers. Two. That’s it. And, to be honest, I didn’t quite finish the second. I had no excuse to be hungover like that. It was absolutely pathetic, and quite frankly, I’m a little embarrassed. Motherhood has ruined my tolerance; two beers used to be a warmup.
My son who usually plays happily by himself on the floor, sensed that I was feeling crappy. Maybe he’s got a sixth-sense, or perhaps my sprawled, groaning body on the couch intrigued him. Either way, he insisted on coming over to cheer me up.
Have you ever been cheered up by 10-month old? They mean well, but they have limited capacity to help you out. He kept trying to hug me, but couldn’t sit still, so it felt like I was like being attacked by Tigger.
Every time he darted across my face, he blocked the overhead light, which admittedly was nice, but since he was the human equivalent of a jumping bean, he made the light strobe. As anyone who has ever been hungover can attest, bright lights, especially strobing ones, make you want to hurl.
Praying to the Porcelain God was not how I wanted to spend my morning, and with my son’s affinity for bathrooms, it wouldn’t be pretty.
I appreciated his attempts to cheer me up but I was in no shape to play. I successfully managed to distract him with his toys, and I closed my eyes. Naturally, the toy he chose to play with was the one with the most obnoxious music. The same one with two volume levels: loud and louder.
Kid’s toys today are parental torture devices. Leave me in a room with a musical toy on repeat and I’ll break down and tell you everything. Chinese Water Torture has nothing on ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ for hours on end.
The only solution for me that morning was to put my son down for his nap early. He wasn’t happy with it, but he didn’t complain too much. I went back to bed and slept.
Seriously, two beers.
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