After being with her partner for 13 years, my big sister is finally getting married next month and I am her maid of honour. When she asked me 18 months ago (Ok, I pretty much demanded that I should be) the first thing I thought was “YAY, new dress!” closely followed by “YAY, hen do!” I was so excited to start planning her big night out. Liam and I had decided we were going to start trying for a baby, but I told him up front if we (side note, why do we say ‘we’ were pregnant? Last time I checked he didn’t lose out on 9 months of wine!) weren’t pregnant by Christmas we would have to stop for a few months, because there was no way I was walking down that aisle looking like an elephant, a very SOBER elephant!
As it happens we were exceptionally lucky. I had the implant out, came home and celebrated this next chapter by having a quickie on the sofa (who said romance was dead!?) Two weeks later he fetched me a bottle of wine home from work and I handed him a positive pregnancy test. Apparently fertility was not an issue for us!
So while planning everything baby, I also started planning all things wedding. My sisters best friend is also getting married in September in New York and as it fell on the weekend of my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s stag Vicki offered to pay for me to go with her! While I was pregnant all I could think was “Oh my God, YES!” This meant that when Freddie was born in May, I then had my birthday in June, Karen (the friend) and Vicki’s (the sister) separate hen parties in August, and then New York and Vicki’s wedding in September. My social life never looked so good! Throw in that in July Liam asked me to marry him, I have been a busy, busy bee.
This weekend came around in the blink of an eye and it was time to go celebrate sissy’s wedding. We went all out, several gins, a fancy meal, surprise limo, a few more gins, beer pong and more tacky sashes than you could shake a stick at! Saturday was such a good night. The only trouble with a good Saturday, is it means there is invariably a horrendous Sunday that follows. After a pretty nasty stumble, 12 hours in heels and a 3am bedtime I felt horrible yesterday. Now I know parents everywhere have lamented having to look after the kids with a hangover, and I get that. But that wasn’t the issue for me. I am exceptionally lucky in that Liam was more than happy to be on Freddie duty all weekend. He let me take a midday nap, cooked us Sunday lunch and kept me hydrated with full fat coke. What I hated though was how guilty I felt and how much I felt like I was missing out on a day with my baby. I 125687% know that he will definitely not remember that one weekend when he was 12 weeks old where I couldn’t soothe him to sleep because I couldn’t stand up, and I know he won’t remember me slouching off to bed the second he woke up from his nap because his happy gurgles were too loud, but I will! It sounds strange, but I used to love my hangover days because it meant I could sleep and eat chicken nuggets all day, but this time around it just didn’t seem worth it at all. I don’t even want to think how many smiles I missed because I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Now this isn’t all to say that I am now 100% on the wagon, because lets face it, I have 4 baby free days in New York in 3 weeks time and I will be celebrating once again in 32 days as I watch my big sister get married. Oh and I have a bottle of wine in the fridge as we speak (waste not, want not!), but I do definitely think that once the rosé has gone, and September is done with it will be a very long time before I get drunk to the point of a hangover again.