Childrearing
St. Patrick’s Day Fail: Parenting And Hangovers Don’t Mix
I was reminded of this fact just last weekend. I straightened my hair, left the kids with a sitter and headed out to a friend’s 40th birthday party. The scene was festive: Italian food (family-style), mishmash of people, and just a warm and fuzzy vibe that reminded me a bit of being in my 20s and knowing that you had your whole night – and life – ahead of you. I didn’t set out to drink, per se. Sure, I had a glass of wine before dinner. Then another one while eating. But it was one of those situations where every time I took a sip, a waiter would fill my glass with more. Could I have said no? Of course! But when it’s just a minor refill, you start to lose track.
Several hours later, I stood up from the table to make my rounds. And, wow, was I drunk. The perfect drunk. Needless to say, I had a blast. When my husband urged me to say my goodbyes at around 12:30 a.m., I told him no way. So he left! Without me! (We’re independent that way.) Next thing I know, it’s 2 a.m. and the party is about to move to a smaller bar nearby. “Come! Joins us!” urged the (childless) birthday boy and my NBFs (some of them parents themselves). That’s when my mother instinct kicked in and I thought, “Holy shit, I have to be up in five hours.” So I hailed a cab and headed home.
Hubs was still awake, and he reminded me that it was daylight savings time (spring forward). I closed my eyes and was awoken by my 2-year-old’s cries of “Mommmy. Mommmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyy.” I thought that five minutes had passed but it turns out with actually morning (6:32 to be precise). And I – the world’s worst morning person – was somewhat hyper, which makes me think perhaps I was still drunk? A couple hours (and coffees) later my husband and I were out the door with our two kids, en route to a baby naming (a Jewish ceremony for newborn girls) for my brand new niece.
That’s when it hit me: that feeling of nauseousness and utter uselessness (you know, when you start to think, How will I survive the next five minutes, never mind the entire day). If I had no kids, well, I suppose I wouldn’t have been awake in the first place. But if I had no kids and it were 11 a.m., I’d go out for a greasy breakfast, drink copious amounts of coffee, and then plan for an afternoon nap followed, perhaps, by a low-key dinner with friends. I had this thought as I sat in my sister’s basement surrounded by 20 or so screaming children and flying objects. My head pounded. I thought I would throw up. And I felt like a total asshole.