The Confessional

Heavenly Father, it has been 13 months, 3 days and 6 hours since my last hangover. No, I'm not a recovering alcoholic, just a girl who's been knocked up a few times in the last 4 years and missed out on celebrating her birthday one too many times. Don't worry, I made up for it this year with some bubbles, red wine, and in last night's case, a few vodka martinis and a buttery nipple (don't ask).
Thirty one years old, two kids, one hot husband, and a fair amount of wrinkles to show for it all. Last year I spent my birthday 4 months pregnant, gassy and nauseous, sitting in a restaurant picking at my food while my husband downed a bottle of great Syrah and let me drive him home. Year 29 was celebrated in an airport on my way to South America for my father-in-law's birthday trip, woopee. Yep, the last time I was drunk was the night I got pregnant with my second daughter. Let's hope I didn't make the same mistake last night! That would be another 40 weeks of penance. Shit.

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