Time Out

A few weeks ago - actually, over the past few months I noticed that consuming alcoholic beverages was becoming a bit too easy, a bit too frequent, and a regular coping mechanism. At the end of a long day, the first thought on my mind was a drink. I'd pour or Wood would pour, and before you knew it, I'd have tossed back three of the drink du jour. In restaurants I noticed that it would take two of just about anything for me to feel something resembling a buzz.

When I was in the hospital, answering questions about my health status and personal habits, particularly around drinking, I heard myself say "More than two drinks, yes more than two drinks daily." A pregnant pause, no judgement, and... moving right along...

In my morphine mind, I flashed on a conversation with some close friends a couple of months ago. I had expressed my overindulgence as somewhat of a problem and that both Wood and I needed to slow it down. My friend responded, behind a slightly uncomfortable giggle, that if drinking was the only solace we have right now, he encourages drinking - more, in fact.

Right after my surgery, booze was the last thing on my mind. After all, I had been given oxycodone for the pain, and was taking them and tylenol or advil in between doses religiously. I didn't need booze. So, I decided to quit.

The few times I had a grown up silly drink after the surgery, my body retaliated something feirce! Swelling of my hands, feet and face with the consumption of one beer. Roughly the same with wine.

I told Wood I'd climbed on the wagon, to please support me. I told my pals at work. Yep, the body don't like it so I will not be drinking any more. So, I kinda lied; I will have a glass of wine occasionally.

Drinking will no longer be my time out.

The Boy pushed and prodded and rang all of my bells tonight. He wouldn't settle and just wanted to engage me to stay awake. I tried to reason with him. Tried to express my frustration. Kept my cool. It was so hard to keep it together. After about 40 minutes of his shennanegins, I quietly got out of bed, put on my coat, grabbed my phone and keys and told him I was leaving to take a time out from him. That I was upset and I needed to walk away to think about it.

He chased me and said he was coming with me and that I couldn't leave him alone.

I sat on the porch and typed this here blog post on my phone and wondered if the non-alcoholic time out business is really where it's at. It is. And so is the porch.