Mummy's hangover hell

Why oh why oh why? That was pretty much all I said last Sunday after waking up with a hangover. And a baby. I love Prosecco but it did not love me the morning after. OK so in hindsight drinking a bottle and a half to myself was never going to end in me being bright eyed and bushy tailed the next day. I thought I was being clever by not mixing my drinks, quantity wasn’t a factor in my thought process.

Rough.

There were so many whys that morning: Why did you wake me up by jumping on my head? (Rooky mistake that we didn’t arrange to have Willow sleep out. D’oh!)  Why have you had two poos before breakfast? Why do you want to play with all the bangy, flashy toys this morning? Why the fuck is daddy still in bed?

In a time of crisis I turned to the holy trinity of hangover revival: paracetamol, coffee and a bacon butty and hoped for the best. Willow was on one of course, throwing herself to the floor when mummy removed her (really loud)  jingle bells.  She repaid me in kind by releasing cacti Armageddon – all my little plants turfed onto the floor which of course

Why this morning darling?

meant that the (really loud) hoover had to come out and a grumpy daddy had to be woken up while operation clean up commenced.  Picture the scene: me sweating Prosecco, wincing at the noise while trying to manoeuvre the shittest hoover in the world that just spreads things around rather than picking things up. Again, why oh why oh why?

I became acutely aware as the morning progressed that this is why I don’t go out very much anymore.  I had a lovely evening with family and friends but I think the hangover payoff is too much.  Yes, I know what you’re thinking, I could go out and not drink but I have no self control so we’ll leave that option there thank you.  To be fair Willow doesn’t give a shit if the parentals have a headache, feel a bit queasy and green around the gills.  She doesn’t know what a hangover is and why should she?  It’s Sunday morning and she wants to jump on our bellies, fling porridge around and watch Peppa Pig on repeat.  Oh to be nearly one and have no comprehension of this self inflicted torture.

The day did get slightly better.  I managed to get myself and Willow dressed, donned my sunglasses and dragged us to our local Christmas food markets.  I mistakenly thought the fresh air walk would do me good.  When I got to the fair I got caught up in the festive spirit and for some bonkers reason bought a mulled wine.  Kill or cure? A little bit of both.  At first I was all  “yeah, hair of the dog works,” then I felt a little bit sick and had to call daddy to come and get us as I couldn’t face the walk home.

Mulled wine – what was I thinking?

Willow was loving it.  She got to eat chocolate brownie, normally prohibited by the sugar police, but as it was a time of crisis, sugary contraband seemed my only option.  Whatever keeps you quiet and in your pram my darling.  Exemplary parenting right there for you.

Daddy then treated us to a carvery Sunday lunch so no cooking or washing up. Winning! We somehow hobbled through until 8:30pm when we declared ourselves defeated and, waving a white flag in the face of our collective hangovers, crawled up to bed.  An early night – fabulous….. until I started throwing up.  One of Willow’s little chums had kindly passed on their sickness bug to me. Wonderful.  I’ll leave it there. I imagine most of you are all too familiar with how that goes.

Have I learned my lesson?  Hmm…. I’d like to say yes but as the hangover fades, silly season approaches and a bottle of fizz is opened at the mere whisper of anything festive then probably not.  Not to mention it’s perfectly acceptable to glug a bit of Baileys into your coffee at this time of year.  I may have made that rule up myself – mum and I benefit enormously from it. We go through A LOT of coffee in December. One think I know for sure is that next time it is daddy’s turn to get up with her so I can wallow in hangover hell in peace. Nobody is really winning there though are they?

Please let me know about your hangover/small child nightmares.  We can laugh about it in hindsight yes?  Also any tips for easing the pain the morning after gratefully received!

Speak soon,

Kat x

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Diary of an imperfect mum

 

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