Before my eyes are open the pounding begins. Not a hammer, this feels more like a chorus of jackhammers being pounded on my forehead by a 350 pound construction worker. The next thing I feel is my son savagely ripping the sheets off me in search of a hug. The attempt at a hug has me dry heaving all the way to the bathroom and I quickly realize what this morning is going to be like.
Welcome to your hangover, mommy.
What did you think? Did you think you could drink like you were 22 AND wake up and be mom today? Ahhh yes, I see now that very little thought went into planning last night. No plans equates to no limits which equates to a very hungover and miserable mommy on Sunday. One glance at the overflowing recycle bin and sink full of wine glasses confirms that indeed a good time was had by all. Especially me.
Before I can tend to anything living and breathing I must brush my teeth or I will vomit. I force myself to do this typically easy chore all the while struggling to get through the bathroom without looking in the mirror at the carnage from last night. The sight of hungover mommy will surely make me more nauseous than I already am. This better not be the day the Girl Scouts try to sell me anything.
One would think with so many obligations (one of which wakes up at 6 a.m. on the dot) in the morning I would have abstained or at the very least suckered Dad into morning duties. On this morning, I could tell from the moaning coming from the other side of the bed that it was all me. Grimacing in agony, I jump into my supermom outfit (read: dirty yoga pants and an old tee shirt from high school).
Today we will eat breakfast on the couch in front of the TV because I am physically unable to sit up in a regular chair. My son is thrilled when I say that as a special treat he can rent a movie, just after breakfast. The desperate hope in allowing this debauchery is that when it is over I will feel like a human being again. Or, at the very least Dad will be awake and I can crawl back in bed.