I have no problem freely an openly admitting that I drink. NO, I AM NOT AN ALCOHOLIC. NO I DO NOT NEED REHAB OR HELP- so before you even attempt to go there, if you’re attempting to go there, shut it down.
I drink because I like to and because i’m a grown ass woman who can make my own decisions on what is and isn’t appropriate for me. And I drink because my kids are fucking insane and occasionally after I finally force them into submission for the evening, it helps me wind down and and keep that little grasp on sanity I keep saying I still have.
Generally, I know my limit. After a few incidents of puking in front of friends, verbal diarrhea spraying all over the place, and making a complete ass out of myself (and I wonder why no other adults ever hang out with me!)- I HAD to learn my limit. And generally I stick to that limit, because I don’t need to be waking up in the morning and wondering who the fuck I embarrassed myself in front of.
Also because no matter how bad I dream of it, there is NO day off from children. No matter what, you have to wake up and deal with them… and usually they are very loud. This is bad if you have a splitting headache and are barfing last night’s dinner into the pot.
I like to avoid all of the above.
However, as most of you know, last night was my birthday. And tell me, is it not customary on ones anniversary of their day of birth to getting completely shitfaced drunk? I’ve been pregnant 2 out of my last 5 birthdays, I have time to make up for, and considering that I had absolutely no plans this year, and it would just be Thomas and I- I didn’t have to worry about looking like a complete asshat in front of anyone but him- and that dumbass married me so he’s sort of stuck with it.
We got the kids to bed an hour early as to be able to have more time to actually enjoy the evening adult style without screaming children running around as they had been all day- and started pouring drinks. I had fully intended on pacing myself- because FUCK if i’m going to fall asleep before my birthday is ACTUALLY over. I planned on milking it for all it was worth (this includes forcing husband to do everything for me… well, everything except wipe my ass). .
DO NOT ask me how it happened, because I swear I don’t know, but I went from perfectly fine to completely sloppy drunk without any realization of this happening. Slurred speech, stumbling, incooherent muttering of 4-letter words and laughing at absolutely nothing kind of wasty-face drunk. I do not remember a whole hell of a lot after that, but what I do know is that I woke up with a face full of crusty makeup and feeling like I had a sweater on my teeth. Winning.
I also know that I felt completely like shit. It’s been YEARS since i’ve gotten a head-pounding day-ruining hangover, but I felt like death warmed over. Exhausted, beaten down, and my back, my poor sad back was killing me.
I was more useless than a bag of smashed up assholes. Dragged myself out of bed, fed the kids breakfast, and then laid myself out on the couch with ice on my back- wondering how I was ever going to get through this day, and swearing for the billionth time that I would “NEVER.DRINK.AGAIN!”
I wondered if perhaps the children would completely destroy the house, as they could clearly see I would not be able to muster the energy to even give a fuck and therefore they would get away with it (until Daddy got home that is)… but they surprised me.
Parker walked over to me and handed me his beloved stuffed animal “Dee.” The one he never lets ANYONE touch. The one he cried for 2 hours over when it had to be washed because it smelled like rotten drool and body funk. The one he snarls over if anyone else DARES to pick it up unless it’s being handed straight to him. The one he WILL.NOT.SLEEP.WITHOUT.
He gave it to me. And left it with me. He then covered me with a blanket.
Now, i’m not sure if Holden began following suit as to receive praise, or just to be sweet- but either way I will take it- he asked what he could do for me. Since I was already warm and snuggled up with a “lovey”, I told him he could draw me a picture. He leaves for a few minutes and then comes back in the room. I manage to crack my eyes open enough to look. He’s drawn me a picture of a heart. I didn’t even know he KNEW how to draw a heart, but he drew me one. Then he attempted to smother me with 13 pillows, 3 blankets, and 12 more stuffed animals, y’know, just to one-up Parker.
Is becoming Wastyface McDrunk and waking up with a massive hangover all I have to do to get the kids to be perfect angel children? REALLY?
Yeah…. not worth it.
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