Mrs. Yoy: Acting like I'm 27, feeling like I'm 60

On Saturday night I went out for my good friend's 30th birthday party.  We had the limo, the Buckhead hotel room, Taverna Plaka for dinner and Clermont Lounge for a seedy, Atlanta good time.

When I returned home on Sunday morning, Mr. Yoy asked me what I drank during my evening of debauchery.  I rattled off three glasses of champagne, half a bottle of wine, a Jim Jones (even though I didn't understand the historical significance at the time), a vodka tonic, topped off with another glass of champagne.  The amazing part was, I was tired, but not hungover.

Sunday we did some family stuff and I didn't even nap when the boys went down in the afternoon, I cleaned the house instead.  I thought to myself - I can still hang!


Then, this morning happened.  At 6:23, well before I had anticipated waking up this morning, Big E woke up yelling for me.  Any other morning, it would have been fine.  Sometimes, I even wake up that early on my own.

This morning, it felt like the end of the world.  Dang, I was ti-red.  I could feel the late night and the 8+ drinks I consumed in every step I took towards Big E's room.  I brought him into the Yoy bed and we gave him strict instructions to just lay there quietly.  We then turned on cartoons which seemed to pacify Big E for a bit.  I think I fell back asleep.

Big E climbed out of the bed and started wandering around the upstairs yelling for a gogurt.  I tuned him out.  Ugh, why did I drink so much and not take a nap yesterday?  I knew I should get up and parent.  What if he was drinking household cleaning products or chewing through wires?  Wait, he's not a dog...

Eventually, he climbed back into our bed and proceeded to pull back our comforter.  Then the sheet.  I ignored him.

GOGURT! GOGURT! GOGURT!

He climbed on me and breathed his Big E morning breath in my face.  Well, I am up now.

Back in my 20s, I could party with the best of them.  I could stay out until 3 am and be ready to go the next night again.  Today, I am feeling my age.  I am also feeling my children.  They don't care if I am tired, or sick, or in a bad mood.  They don't care that I drank a blue-tinted Jim Jones on Saturday night.  I am Mrs. Yoy and I have to be on and ready to serve.

Now, excuse me while I go chug a Coke Zero and count down to nap time.

Keep me away from these, please.

Comments

  1. Mrs. YoyJuly 25, 2011 at 5:01 PM

    I have Robyn to thank/blame, she did a great job planning!

    ReplyDelete

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