Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Over the last ten months, I’ve completely lost the ability to drink. Maybe it’s the altitude. But after a glass or two of wine, grandpa needs his nap. Thankfully, my meth addiction is going strong.
Last night, a few co-workers took me out for a goodbye beer. And at the time, I didn’t think I had that many of them. There was no lampshade atop my head. My knuckles were decidedly un-bloody. But when I woke up this morning, I had one great hangovers. My head was bounding. My stomach churned. I was covered in sweat.
And then Luca and Elijah woke up.
Now, I could’ve pawned off wake up duty on Diana. But that would have meant cashing in one of my husband chips. I don’t have that many left and I want to use it for permission to go to Las Vegas one of these days.
I managed to get milks delivered and the TV turned on without barfing. And then laid on the floor and announced that Dada was not feeling well and it would be awesome of we kept the crying and shouting and jumping on me to a minimum.
Elijah immediately took a seat on my stomach. At which point the world tilted 45 degrees and I decided it would be a great idea to stick my head into the toilet.
After spending a while thanking the porcelain, I hear the door open. Luca toddled in carrying his toy doctor kit. My heart almost exploded. What kind of almost 2 year old leaves the joy of early morning cartoons to administer medical care to his hung over dad?
He handed me the plastic stethoscope and plastic bottle of pills (there was no toy Vicodin inside, damn it) and then actually came over and gave me a hug. Not surprisingly, the hug made me feel lots better. I tried to explain to him I wasn’t actually sick and had brought this all on myself, but he kept rubbing my back and murmuring, “Dada sick…”
Diana eventually took pity on me and took over so I could take a half hour shower. I told her about her son, the most compassionate baby ever and she said, “Well, you may feel like crap but at least you’ll get a blog post out of it.”