Mama can't hang

Earlier this week, in celebration of our one-year anniversary (time, oh time, where are you?), my playgroup mamas and I had ourselves some cocktails. And then about a hundred more cocktails. Seriously, y'all, we killed multiple bottles of champagne and wine. At dinner. We also went to a bar before and after the restaurant. Holy moly, I may talk a big game about my former partying ways, but I've always been a pretty cheap date. Thursday night I drank like I was at a wedding. The old, fancy kind with singles tables and premium liquor. It was so incredibly super fun to celebrate with those ladies. Without the babies.

We spent much of the night laughing hysterically. I was still giggling when I got home (late. LATE) and spent a good twenty minutes in the bathroom deciding if I should cut bangs again. No. Cue spin central. My husband was laughing at me as I moaned about having to wake up with the babes. Mr. Monk took pity on me and slept till 8, which would have been awesome if Tony hadn't thrown up in our room at 5. Nothing like hearing your dog yakking away to make you wonder if you really might throw up from alcohol for the first time in 10 years. *Shudder*

The next morning I looked and felt like a poopy diaper. The post-breastfeeding, real deal, solid foods kind. Thankfully, my son doesn't yet understand "Mommy's hungover." And, hopefully, he never will. Despite the 8-hour recovery period, our wild night was so worth it. I'm just glad no one brought a camera.