ah, the good old days. when a bottle of wine and a block of cheese counted as "dinner." and when "late" meant 2am instead of 10pm. who am i kidding, if the phone rings past 9:30, i'm convinced someone is dead.
all these things considered, though, the weekend was still made of of three distinct parts: 1) being wickedly hungover and lying around in bed until noon, 2) eating some kind of greasy food out of a take-out container on the couch, and 3) wash/rinse/repeat the actions of the night before.
parenthood does not allow this. and i really, really didn't appreciate the ability to be nauseous all sunday morning without having to be yelled at by dora and her map.
in the unfortunate event that you allow yourself a tasty adult beverage or two (or three), the Morning After is almost guaranteed to consist of three new distinct parts: 1) being wickedly hungover, 2) being woken up at 5am by your lovely children who are very excited to jump on your head and force you to put a toaster waffle in the oven, and 3) you silently praying for the Babysitting Fairy to come and watch your kids so you can vomit in privacy with some dignity.
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