Specks of the cool morning sun peeked through the wooden slats of the mini blinds. I could tell it was early. My internal alarm clock had sounded. Slowly so as not to jostle myself I glanced at the clock 5:45. Yep, right on time.
I should be getting up.
Putting on running shoes and tights for the 5k I promised I’d run.
But I can barely move my head without my stomach rebelling. My mouth was parched. On my breath the hazy aroma of vomit still lingered. I needed water and wash the yuck from my mouth. Cautiously, I hoisted myself up to a vertical position, at which time my head felt like someone had bashed it in with a sledge hammer.
Looking down I realized I was still in my clothes from the night before. Luckily they were vomit free and thanks to the husband I remembered to take out my contacts.
Slowly I made my way to the bathroom, guzzled glass after glass of water, brushed my teeth, threw on a t-shirt and fell back into bed.
Why did I drink so much last night?
I didn’t plan on it. Binge drinking wasn’t on the itinerary of birthday To Dos. But the Mai Tais were so yummy and we having such great time with friends, I just forgot to keep count.
I also forgot to drink water.
I wanted to forget what it was like to be old.
But this killer hangover wouldn’t let me forget.
Hours later when the kids were up and I could see the irritation on my husband’s face when I said I couldn’t get up just yet, I knew drinking and being 40 just didn’t mix.
When I was younger, I could be hungover all day, and trust me I was. I did go to The Number One Party school, so drinking was just something we did. It started on Thursdays and didn’t end till Sunday. On that day I’d sip ginger ale, munch crackers and watch movies while nursing myself back to normalcy, only to do it all again the following weekend.
I’m not proud of those college years, in fact I’m pretty embarrassed. I was kicked out of school for bad grades because of too much partying and had to go back to finish up at the ripe age of 30.
I had puked in the ped mall too many times to count and I probably would have ended up the next Vodka Sam.
But I didn’t … I remember the day vividly my boyfriend had just broken up with me, I was in the middle of mid-terms and I walked in the kitchen at 8 am poured myself a BV and coke and stared at it. My hand shook, I knew that if I took that drink I’d be that person and I wasn’t going to be that person.
Don’t get me wrong I still drank, but I drank socially, never alone and never when I was upset or depressed.
I almost broke that promise a couple of weeks ago. E had a horrible day, and it had totally thwarted our family plans. I was pissed, hurt and sad, and as I opened the fridge to get dinner ingredients I grabbed a bottle of Mike’s. I was about to twist of the top when I heard my son’s laughter. The bottle was left on the counter and I knelt down and hugged him.
I remembered that day I laid in bed on Saturday missing everything that I was looking forward to all because I drank one too many Mai Tais …
I missed the 5k I was supposed to help with, and participate in.
I missed Saturday morning snuggles, donuts and coffee.
I missed the kiddos playing together, and had to see a picture of it on Facebook instead.
I almost missed going to Disney LIVE with the littles, but forced myself to go, because I was done missing life that day.
That’s why I won’t get drunk after 40 – life is too short to miss anything.
Inspired by Heather’s brave story of addiction and recovery, visit her at The Extraordinary Ordinary for support and inspiration. Thanks Heather for sharing your story and helping me share mine.