Do you ever have a morning where you wake up and just feel…. wrong? That was most definitely this morning for me.
One might argue that it was the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed in a short amount of time last night- but personally I think it’s a build up of exhaustion and release. November has been a stressful month, and last night was the first time I really just got to celebrate instead of worry. And celebrate I did.
I didn’t stay up that late… well, to be honest, I really can’t remember how late I stayed up, but i’m told by Thomas that it was an early night- but once I hit that bed I was like a corpse.
When I finally managed to roll out of bed and wake up, it was past 9am. I don’t think i’ve slept past 8 since I was pregnant with Parker, and those were only special occasions where Thomas let me sleep in because while pregnant with the little turd I spent the majority of my nights sweating on the toilet crapping my insides out.
Although Thomas and I slept in, the boys did not; once again proving that just because you keep your kids up late does NOT mean they will sleep in later- but that’s beside the point. I have no idea how long they had been awake for (and slightly guilty about that fact), but I have to assume it was more than just a few minutes based on the trail of destruction I had to follow to even find them.
Toys, pillows, blankets, but my favorite little touch was the entire carton of q-tips that was pulled out of the bathroom cabinet and dumped all over the floor.
As I was putting them away, I noticed something funny shoved to the back of the cabinet. Something i’ve hung on to, for who knows why:
Hospital ice packs.
You know which ones i’m talking about. Those fantastic disposable half pad, half heavenly cloud of ice that you shove into your sexy mesh underwear after blowing your crotch out from giving birth.
Yes, I saved them.
After popping Holden out, I was sent him with basically nothing, and I cried myself to sleep for weeks thanks to the god awful pain in my crotch.
Learning from that experience, I made DAMN sure I was going to be sent home with a stockpile after Parker. I thought for sure I would use them all, but I guess there’s only so many times you can freeze your crotch in a 24-hour period, and only so long that same crotch will continue hurting.
Why didn’t I throw them away? I honestly don’t know. Maybe in the back of my mind I figured they would come in handy one day- and boy was I right!
Back when I first hurt my back and the doctor told me to put ice on it? You’d better believe I yanked one of those ice packs out of storage, tore the pad part off (because no way am I going to stick a GIANT pad on my back!) and stuck that bag of awesome back there.
Out of sight out of mind, once we moved I had no idea where they went, but perhaps I had some kind of psychic forethought because my stomach has been so sick today that my ass is on fire and I am incredibly tempted to pop one of those suckers out, crack it, and sit on it like the good old days.
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