Was pretty bloody knackered yesterday after spending all of Friday night in A&E with the Little Guy who fell on the door frame and split his forehead open. It happened at 6pm and usually - pre major life change to give up wine drinking - I would have had at least half a bottle in me by that point. But the new sober Mrs D was clear headed enough to dial 111 and get an ambulance who took us in to hospital to get patched up.
Mr D was out and had arrived back just before the ambulance arrived so he stayed behind with the other two.
So last night - Saturday - Mr D was having a glass of wine (and bear in mind I was tired from a night of stress, had not slept well and had spent all day folding washing, making food and caring for the boys) when he decided to start telling me about how hard it was going to be for me not to have that 'release' at the end of each day by having a glass of wine.
'But I don't just have one or two glasses of wine!!' I reminded him with gritted teeth. 'I have a bottle and a half! That fantasy of just a couple to unwind doesn't exist for me any more!' I was getting a bit angry. But hey, remember dear reader, that I was bloody knackered.
But then Mr D started getting defensive and started trying to reinforce his point. Not on! I'm the bloody expert on this! I got more grouchy and tried to remind him about my determined over-drinking. The last thing I need is someone, especially my husband, to undermine my resolve and lead me down the path of romantic reminiscing about drinking. Romance be damned, my drinking has been anything but romantic and my unwinding at the end of the day was more like a complete unravelling.
I don't miss going to the loo and looking at the back of the door thinking 'I'm pissed'.
I don't miss going to the loo 3 times overnight.
I don't miss being awake in the wee small hours feeling guilty about how much wine I sank the night before.
I don't miss cursing that we have no panadol in the house in the morning.
I don't miss yelling at the boys to stop yelling because my head is pounding.
I don't miss my guts churning and my head aching until mid afternoon.
I don't miss dragging my sorry ass through the day because of a hangover.
I don't miss the sly fox in my brain thinking about how much wine to get, how much wine is left...
I don't miss that sly wine-drinking boozy fox at all..
Anyway back to last night. I decided to breath deeply and remember to ask myself 'what is actually wrong here' and realise nothing was other than Mr D being thoughtless. So I calmed myself by whipping cream for pudding and putting clean sheets on the bed then ran myself a bubble bath and soaked while Mr D put the boys down. I forgave him later when he bought me some white chocolate in bed and we watched England and Scotland play each other in the Rugby World Cup.
Life wasn't so bad after all. And I was never seriously tempted to have a drink.
Love, Mrs D xxx