The Hangover

On Saturday night I went out for my friend Amy's bachelorette party, or as my single friend Carrie kept referring to it: Who Let The Moms Out?

Topics of conversation at the pre-party included "how to maximize your breast milk" and "awesome casseroles".

Yes it's true - we are officially the old women on the dance floor who scream and jump up and down when the band plays Fat Bottom Girls that I used to feel so sorry for when I was in my 20s.

This type of night always leads to a couple of problems:

1. My college friends and I get together so infrequently that when we do go out we go balls out crazy
2. Our livers have forgotten how to metabolize balls out crazy so there is always hell to pay the next day.

So balls out crazy it was.

And hell to pay there was.

A mere four hours after our DD pulled into my friend Sheila's driveway I was doubled over sweating martinis on her toilet while something that looked like an otter tried to claw its way out of my ass and something that tasted like enchiladas launched out of my mouth into her cute bathroom wicker trash can.

All at the same time.

It crossed my mind that this punishment was a little harsh for a few drinks and a shot or two but whatever - it's the price you pay for going balls out.

A couple of hours later I was finally able to peel myself off of the blow up mattress and crawled home at 15 miles per hour through a snowstorm as the rest of the otter's family tried to tunnel their way through my lower intestine to reunite with their little friend.

There were several times on the drive home that I thought I was going to have to pull over and take a Beth. My sister Beth has some sort of IBS spastic colon thing and when it hits her it hits her, no questions asked.

The most memorable Beth might be the time that she had just started dating my now brother-in-law and they were driving up to visit for the weekend. They had to pull off the highway onto an on ramp in the middle of the city while she let it fly next to the car. He got out and tried to cover her with his coat but he started dry heaving so hard at the smell of her explosive diarrhea that he had to get back in the car and let her ride it out solo while the nice people from Creve Coeur honked and yelled at her out their windows.

He married her even after that so we all knew it was true love.

But taking a Beth on the side of the highway when it's sunny and 75 degrees is a lot different than taking a Beth on the side of the highway when it's 7 degrees and the 60 mile an hour wind is pelting snow and ice in your face.

I decided death was preferable to pooping in 7 degree snow and hit the gas. By the grace of god I made it through the door and into the bathroom just in the nick of time.

Now, in days of yore this whole hangover situation would have been handled in a very different way. I would have slept at Sheila's until about noon and returned home to my nice quiet bed, sleeping the day away, only waking up to eat some Taco Bell and hit replay on my 25th anniversary collector's edition Dirty Dancing DVD.

On Sunday as I ran through the door at 8:30am holding the seat of my pants there were screaming kids hurling themselves at me from every direction, clinging onto my legs as I frantically unbuttoned my pants and dove onto the toilet.

And rather than sleeping the day away we went to a kid's birthday party.

At a place called Pump it Up.

For those who haven't been to Pump it Up, it's basically like a giant vasectomy. You should, under no circumstances, take someone there who you are trying to convince to have kids. You should also under no circumstances go there if you have been to a balls out crazy bachelorette party the night before.

I was able to pull myself together to take one single, solitary picture which happened to be about a mili-second after Ellie was plowed over by some kid all hopped up on cake and black soda. Notice how calm Nick is walking over to her, slowly rolling up his sleeves, while I sprint screaming from the other side of the room despite the fact that I'm on my death bed.



Other than taking this picture, I spent the entire time in the bathroom under the guise of changing Lila's diaper. Which actually did happen once, during which time I considered crawling up into the ceiling tiles to take a nap until the party was over.

Anyhoo, mid way through the screaming running bouncing I started to feel mind numbing, horrific abdominal cramps which rivaled labor contractions and I knew that we were dealing with something way worse than a simple hangover.

There was a whole town of otters trying to get out of there.

We ended up leaving the party early and I spent the remainder of the day in bed thinking only four things:

1. How in the world am I going to take care of two kids tomorrow?
2. Please lord don't let my children get this
3. I never knew you could dry heave out your ass
4. If nothing else, please at least let this virus bring me one step closer to fitting into my Pants of Truth.