So yesterday was one of those rare days when I felt glad I wasn’t pregnant or a mum… yet*
I went out on Friday night for my work Christmas do. I had a great laugh, drank a few drinks, stayed out late and woke up to an enormous hangover (one that certainly wasn’t justified for only 4 drinks. I guess that’s what drinking in your 30s is like now).
I stayed in bed until 10:45am. I had no voice. My lips were cracked. My mouth was dry. My head was throbbing. I was thirsty. I was HUNGRY. I texted Dave from upstairs to say I wasn’t going to be talking to him or smiling at him for a couple of hours because it simply wasn’t possible. I emerged from my pit to cook a fried breakfast, took it back upstairs to bed and watched inane telly for the rest of the day. I sometimes got back under the duvet and had a nap. I stayed in my pyjamas ALL DAY. I only threw on clothes at 6pm to go and pick up a takeaway. Dave and I then chilled out on the sofa for the evening watching telly, gorging ourselves and drank some more. We then went to bed for hot sex at 10pm and had an uninterrupted night’s sleep until 9am this morning.
I was fortunate to indulge in such selfish behaviour. My colleagues who I was out with on Friday night were getting up between 5am-7am yesterday morning to spend the day with their children. They had babies, toddlers and teenagers who all needed attention and looking after. If they were lucky they might have had their husbands and partners to pick up the initial slack first thing in the morning, but then they would be expected to do their 24 hour job of being ‘mum’. I applaud them for that, because they would have all been hanging out of their arse just like me.
*But I would trade it all – ALL OF IT – to be pregnant. Hopefully next year I won’t be at the Christmas party because I’ll be a new mum.