Timeline: Baby Shower

Saturday, 2 June, 2007

7:00am -- wake up and start cleaning/preparing for shower at our house

2:30pm -- Patty and James arrive as hosts (well, Patty is really the hostess)

2:32pm -- Mark starts drinking

3:10pm -- guests start arriving

3:30pm -- Mark is on his second double bourbon

5:00pm -- Mark is "happy"

6:00pm -- Mark is drunk

6:30pm -- most guests are gone except for Mark's coworkers and their families (his crew, if you will)

8:00pm -- we move the party inside for the sake of the noise; a venture to the pub is discussed

8:30pm -- Mark opens his fourth beer, chasing the 3 or 4 double bourbons

10:00pm -- everyone leaves; Mark follows me around the house, drunk; he tries to clean a few glass pitchers, scaring the shit out of me

10:30pm -- Mark gets a text that the boyz are at the pub and he takes off, "to be home by 11:30"

11:30pm -- I get a text that he's just ordered another Guinness and will be home later

12:30am -- I text Mark, asking him where he is, and he writes back, "defending the American flag;" at this point I am assuming at least 2 of the 3 total car bombs he will have finished before returning home have been consumed

1:00am -- Mark comes home, or at least to the front door, into which key hole he can't seem to fit his key

1:15am -- Mark sits on the couch silently and falls asleep almost immediately with a glass of water in his hand

1:30am -- I try to get Mark to lie down on the couch but instead he mimes drinking water and taking off his glasses, even though I've taken the water away from him (for fear of the glass breaking) and taken his glasses off many minutes ago

1:45am -- I go upstairs and try to sleep

1:55am -- I fear that Mark might choke on his own vomit so I go back downstairs, deciding to sleep on the floor and make sure my husband doesn't die

2:00am -- I get downstairs to find Mark now sitting on the floor and leaning against the couch

2:01am -- I lie down

2:02am -- Mark starts puking everywhere, all over himself and the carpet and the floor

2:05am -- I bring Mark a bowl and he pukes just as much in the bowl as he had on the floor

2:10am -- I start cleaning up vomit, a process that will last another 30 minutes, all the while crying and mumbling that a pregnant person shouldn't have to clean someone else's vomit when she already feels so nauseous

2:20am -- I get Mark into the shower, who, in his inebriated state, wants to take everything out of his pockets before undressing, as if the most pressing matter wasn't getting his vomitoid shorts and shirts off (yes, readers, he was sitting in his own vomit before I got him up)

2:25am -- I check on Mark, who is now propping himself up with one arm so he won't fall down in the shower

2:30am -- Mark starts dry-heaving and spitting in the bathroom sink ... and Vaughn wakes up and starts screaming

2:35am -- I make the choice to finish with the loud noises before attending to Vaughn, so I take the carpet to the back porch to prevent further fouling of the air around us in the next 24 hours; I have to move the coffee table to do this -- two things a pregnant lady should not be doing

2:45am -- I go into Vaughn's room; turns out she was afraid the Big Bad Wolf was coming to get her ... mind you she's never, EVER woken up in the night and needed our attention since she was about 3 months old, except when horribly, horribly ill; meanwhile Mark is trying to ascend the stairs for what he tells me are two reasons: because Vaughn is sad and because he wants to get in his bed; I tell him, "Absolutely not"

2:50am -- I get in bed and eventually fall asleep

6:30am -- I hear someone stirring downstairs, opening the back door, etc

7:00am -- Mark says to me, "Why is the carpet outside?"

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I should have prefaced this whole story with the fact that I got so drunk at a Steep Canyon Rangers show while Mark and I were fake-dating (pre-Vaughn) not quite four years ago that it basically ended our relationship: he thought it was immature to be that drunk; I thought it was stupid that he cared that much. About two weeks later we were broken up. Needless to say, I was quite a bit more understanding about his "fuck-up." I was more scared, tired and anxious about going into labor with a completely useless husband.