Hangovers suck. Everyone will tell you. The nausea, the puking, the headaches. The point when you have to take a Xanax to calm down when you start to remember what really happened the night before and have a major case of the creeps. But the Mangover (mom/hangover) is worse. Way worse. It's hell right here on earth. It is something no one can ever prepare you for.
When you have your first baby you're living in a cloud of sorts. You're really not sure what the heck is going on. You have a drink here and there but you're just too exhausted and too gaga over your little miracle to really get down and dirty. But then it happens. You're not expecting it to happen. You don't even know it's happening until it's way too late. But it happens. You get knee walking drunk and have the time of your life, but when you wake up in the morning you realize, probably on the bathroom floor, probably still clothed from the night before, that you are a parent and have another life to care for. It's almost as shocking as the day you found out you were pregnant, but not nearly as joyous. Back then you had nine months to prepare. Right now someone needs you to feed and change them. This second. It's an awful realization.
The Shame. The Embarrassment. The Rage. The Denial. It's all there. I'm a mom. How could I have let this happen? It really doesn't matter how. It happened. Now you have to deal. If you're lucky, the hubs didn't drink the night before or hopefully not as much. If this is the case, you're going to be okay. You can go back to bed and just have to live with the guilt he will bestow on you for years. Easy. But if you both went out and are both insanely hungover, you're in real trouble.
After we had our first there was a night we were over served, probably right here in our own living room. We woke up in the morning and couldn't believe the baby slept through the night. For the first time ever. I was so excited I called my bestie Shelly. Shelly's kids were a few years older than mine. She politely suggested perhaps the baby didn't really sleep through the night, maybe we were the only ones who did. Hmm. Now that did make more sense.
There was another time when Beau and I went out for a few drinks with friends. No big deal, just a few beers. So we thought. When we woke up in the morning we could not function. We had two babies at the time. Two little babies. I can remember us both laying on the kitchen floor feeding them bottles. It was so bad we couldn't even make it to the couch. We also had a Christening we were supposed to be at. I took one for the team and took one baby and went. Beau stayed home with the other baby. That's our marriage. Not 50/50, we give 100/100. That's love. We still count that as our worst Mangover/Dangover combo of all time.
The good news is, the babies grow older. The bad news is, they start to talk and ask questions. A few weeks ago my brother, Dat, invited us over to watch the Hawks game. It was a big game. It was also the first warm night of the year. I was excited. I'm not that big into sports, but I do like drinking while sports are on television. And we were finally going to be outside after a long winter of inside drinking. Long story short, I over indulged. I let the weather and the excitement of the big game get the best of me. I was surrounded by family and friends, so that wasn't a problem. The problem was the next morning when my 5-year-old daughter did a reenactment of me from the night before. It was a new low for me. But it was funny. She nailed it. Perhaps it was not the first time she's seen this show.
Today, I am actually on day three of my three day Mangover. When you're young you're hungover for a day. Maybe not even that long. Then you get a little older and you start to experience the two day. Then after thirty-five it turns into a three day marathon. I'm in the last leg. Almost at the finish line. Almost back to normal. Almost able to consider drinking again. Just tired. Even though I went to bed last night with my kids.
On Saturday night we went to a parish function. A fundraiser for our soon-to-be kids' catholic school. These are always a good time. It's all parishioners. All people you know. All people just like you. All parents just out for a good time to support the cause. The great thing about a school function is that everyone can walk there. No one has to worry about having to drive after a few drinks. So you know going into this what it's going to turn into. And it always does. This night was no different.
We get there and meet up with our family/friends/neighbors. It was a lot of fun. Great people, great drinks, great dancing. Just a good time. The fundraiser ends and we decide we'll go to a bar in the neighborhood and keep the party going for a bit. Not a bad idea. So we continue on with many of the same people. All of the sudden, it's time for that bar to close. But I don't feel like going home just yet. There's more party in me. Never a good idea. Responsible Beau calls it a night and walks home. I go to the late night bar with some friends. Who all happen to be related to me. We close that place and it was all downhill from there.
My cousin Devin walks me home, but it seems Beau forgot to leave the door unlocked for me. Oh that Beau. So I knock. I ring the bell. I shout obscenities. Nothing. Then I think, oh wait, my neighbor Huck has a key! I'll just go bang on his door. It's 5:19am at this point. Devin doesn't think this is a good idea. The voice of reason that he is. He talks me into coming to sleep at his house. Because if there's anything more fun then waking up hungover with your own four kids, it's waking up hungover at your cousin's house with his four kids.
So I wake up around noonish. I check my phone. Seventeen new messages. Wow, I'm popular. Perhaps I made some new friends last night? Nope, just Beau and some friends looking for me. I was quick to point out if Beau hadn't locked the door in the first place I would have been home in my own bed and everyone should just be thankful I'm alive. Devin drives me home the three blocks, thankfully, because I really wasn't up for a walk of shame through the neighborhood I live in with my husband and four children. We pull up to my house and beloved Beau has made a welcome home sign for me and hung it right in the front window. "Welcome Home Mommy". For the entire neighborhood to see. Beau is a real wit. I'm biding my time before I repay him that favor.
Day one of this Mangover wasn't too bad. I quickly showered, trying to wash off the shame. It only helped a little bit. At least I didn't smell like smoke anymore. I was struck by waves of nausea. I did have a headache. I ate a nice greasy lunch and laid in bed the rest of the day. I can honestly say, day two was worse. I was dying. It was such a long day. I was in bed by eight o'clock. Day three is coming along. I'm feeling better and might just be able to muster a glass of wine tonight. Just kidding. Sort of. I'm just looking forward to tomorrow. When I will be me again. Just a loving, caring, nurturing, sober, wife and mom. Until next weekend.
*Some names have been changed so the people I'm talking about don't know I'm talking about them.
Yes! You rock. The guilty mangover is the worst. You spent your twenties worrying that a drunken night could get you pregnant and now you worry about that and the shame of those little eyes (as they tear up from your last night's booze breath). I just started a 6 month sober streak to make sure that the guilt doesn't kill me!ReplyDelete