Liver & Laughter

Every morning I wake up with a hangover. That sounds awful. Call CPS! Relax, it’s not from drinking. At most, I may consume two bottles of beer (got some Blueberry Wheat and Sam Adams Octoberfest in the ‘fridge) during the course of the evening.

I go to bed with a headache. I wake up a few times for kid-related issues, and then it’s 6 in the morning and I’m standing in the kitchen making coffee with my eyes closed and feeling like I spent the better part of the night being kicked in the head by a bottle of Jager. Only my liver confirms that I wasn’t pulling beer bongs in my sleep.

Good old liver. God knows I’ve given it plenty of reasons to lie to me, but we’re good now. We have an understanding- I don’t try to drown it in a pool of Maker’s Mark and it doesn’t turn my skin yellow. Seems fair.

Of course I’m not alone at this hour. I have a monkey on my back, or in this case on my lap. Zane, as his brother was, is an early riser. Apparently he doesn’t want to miss anything.

We have errands to run today, but of course nothing is open just yet. So we fill the time by taking 45 minutes to write this post and lavishing each other with morning kisses, which leaves me covered in drool and nursing a suddenly cold cup of coffee.

Then it hits me. The hangover is gone. Those open-mouthed trails of spit across my cheek must have had medicinal qualities. Amazing what a little laughter from a happy baby can do to a headache.

They should bottle that stuff. I think my liver would be okay with it.

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