... if only it's a Christmas feet-up.
Before getting pregnant, I was always the last one standing (okay, swaying and stumbling) at a party. I used to LOVE a good night out, or even a good Leo Sayer. My Hub and I wouldn’t need an excuse to go out after work, or at the weekend... it was all just a part of enjoying every day as it came.
So, this year’s Christmas drinks would be one I’d normally look forward to. Since 9th October though, that changed!
If I was passed the 12-week all-important scan, it would be a lot easier, and my colleagues could understand why I wasn’t drinking, but for them to be met with “I’ll just have a lime and soda”, is a bit of a shock.
1. I had a huge bender last night. Massive hangover.
2. I’m on antibiotics... don’t ask.
3. I’ve got a pounding headache.
4. I’m driving later.
5. I’ve got a ticky tummy.
Already, number 5 is out – I want to eat! I decide to go with number 3, as I have a headache by the time the afternoon comes anyway. We're due to get out of the door for 4.30pm. It’s 6.15pm, and we’re finally leaving - Happy Christmas - ¾ hour over work hours and no break.
The evening goes well and the mention that I took strong painkillers to one colleague is overheard by my boss, so I get no baffled looks when I ask for a soft drink. Result. Although, I’m sure a few of them are left wondering: ‘Is she up the duff?’
I come to a really strange enlightenment... I ENJOY being in a pub with others drinking and sticking to just lime and soda. REVELATION. Maybe because it gives me a chance to talk rubbish without worrying about their reaction!
They’re all half-cut by the time I leave and it's a good night. It’s freezing outside with remnants of dirty snow on the pavement, so I meet the hub and we get a cab home. Has to be done - all that pretending has whacked me out!
