Will I Ever Stop Being Tired?

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I am so fucking tired today.

Have you ever slept in the same bed as two tiny humans?  Except they are so tiny anymore and I’m not exactly sure they’re human.  How is it that children are allowed to be awake half the night and then get up the next morning as if nothing happened?  And then you ask them what their problem was the night before and they have no idea what you’re talking about?

Ugh.  This co-sleeping thing is starting to super irritate me.  It’s not bad if Husband takes Destroyer and I take Buddy in different rooms.  But both of them in bed with me when Husband is on night shift is becoming the bane of my mommyhood.

We have a king size bed and yet all of a sudden small children turn into hairy little octopuses with extra long limbs to kick you and tickle you and pull your hair.  It quickly morphs into a twin size bed in the middle of the night and the blankets become too small to cover us.

Every imaginary problem from monsters to ailments to crying for no reason starts to manifest and we get to stay up ALL NIGHT LONG.

Maybe I should just put on some Lionel Richie and give into the party.

Maybe Lionel is the answer.  Maybe if I blast him loud enough and fight them with some new ammunition besides yelling and threats they will get the hint and go the fuck to sleep.  And stay asleep.  And not wake me up every 20 minutes.  And stop monitoring my every move.

If I dare to step one foot out of the bed to use the can in the middle of the night her little four year old sixth sense jolts her awake and I hear “where are you going” before I even get one step out the door.

What is this, grade school?   Do I need to ask permission to go to the fucking bathroom?

I feel like I will never ever ever stop being tired.  Ever.

Parents, is there a time where you stop being tired?

Getting Drunk On A Monday Night With Jesus And Some Lime Green Underpants

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Do you remember that time, Bitches, when you didn’t have adult responsibilities or children or any other early morning commitments?  When you got randomly drunk on  Monday night and it wouldn’t matter?

I have this friend, (who we won’t call Cookie because it’s most certainly NOT her name), who decided to have a mini Bachelor Finale party on a Monday night.  She figured a couple girl friends would come over and they’d pig out and watch Ben Higgins cry for the one millionth time and call it a night.

And then her pal shows up in a sweatsuit onesie with a bottle of wine in her hand and some crazy looking Jesus lookalike motherfucker who was supposedly her husband.  And the next friend showed up with a bottle of sweet bubbly wine with her titties hanging out of her tank top and next things you know, everyone is drunk in the kitchen before they even start the show.

And as far as parties go, it was pretty mild.  The Jesus lookalike had the kids dancing and sing some crazy Star Wars song and somehow inspired the Destroyer to want to practice her violin at 8:30 at night.  He might not have been Jesus for real, but he performed a small miracle. Husband had the hockey game on and dutifully tolerated the chaos I had created in his house.  Only one pair of underpants were flashed and they weren’t even mine.

Anyway, everything was fine until Ben Higgins chose the wrong fucking girl.  HOW?  Worst move ever.

The other thing that happened was that it became Tuesday somehow. And that’s the real shitter.  Seriously.  Before I had to adult during the day, or parent, or be any sort of useful member of society, who cares if I got randomly drunk on a Monday night?

Well this bitch cares today.  My body is broken.  My brain is fuzzy and I feel mildly dizzy.  I have this uncontrollable urge to eat greasy food combined with the sudden urge to vomit.  It’s kinda like morning sickness but instead of blaming a baby, I have no one to blame but myself.  And the friend in the sweatpants onesie and lime green underpants.

And I think back to when I was in my twenties, when I would kill a bottle of wine before even going out at night and wonder how the hell did I survive?

I tell you one thing, I am going to buy my liver a present.  For hanging in there all these years.

And next week, I’m not getting drunk on a Monday night.