Day 18 was, as the youngsters say, an “epic fail.”
I blame my friend Trish, who hosted a Stella & Dot party the night before and forced me to drink three glasses of red wine and buy lots of jewelry.
Now, three glasses of wine might not seem like a lot, but when you have been pregnant and/or nursing for a year…well, your tolerance goes down. Way down. Or mine does, anyway.
Three glasses was all it took for me to have a wicked hangover. (I’m never drinking again.)
My husband came home at 5:30 to me and the kids playing in my daughter’s room. Correction: my daughter was playing. The baby and I were laying on the floor.
I was still in my pajamas. There was no dinner on the stove.
“So have you just given up on today?” he asked. “Is this allowed? I think I’ll have to tweet someone about this.” (Sidenote: I love when my husband tries to use social media jargon. It’s adorable.)
“I have a stomach bug,” I said. “You’re lucky you didn’t catch it. And also, I did some things today. I changed the sheets. I fed the children. They both have clean diapers on.”
“WOW,” he said. “Those are quite the accomplishments!”
Trust me, they were.
We ordered a pizza and I got him all his favorite toppings on his half. I brought him beers. I bathed the children and put them to bed, and basically tried to make up for the other stuff that was lacking. Like a showered wife, a home-cooked meal, and a clean house.
And I swore that tomorrow, things would be different. I’m gonna Gorganize the shit out of him.