Just as we were relaxing and having a nice, calm weekend, my husband decided to spice it up a bit. OKay, I am going to throw it out there, that when you have one pregnant person in the relationship the other person often feels like they not only need to eat similar amounts, but also booze enough for the both of you. My husband has no problem making sure he only eats for one, but when I am not there to hold my own in the cocktail count, I think he gets lonely and drinks for us both. I mean, hey, I would!
So Saturday night started off with a throw-back "Old School" cocktail party at my sister's beach house. There were grinder to munch on, cold beers in a cooler, and a rum punch that even without the rum was pretty darn amazing. After a social time on the porch watching the waves crash on the sand, we headed inside to play some good old drinking games. Kings was first on our list with a seamless transition to asshole a few hours later. I played along with my Buckler and can tell you we were honestly having the best time.
Around 11pm I decided to call it quits, because let's be honest, no matter how much fun I was having drinking fake beer, I am big and tired and was ready to kick my feet up and call it a night. I headed home on my bike, since as you know, we are on a small peninsula here where bikes have the right of way over cars, and it is not unusual to see kids as young as 4 riding off to lessons by themselves. So after I adjusted A's helmet to tuck into my bike seat and not whack me while I rode, I climbed on my bike and headed for home. I had finally gotten my stupid pregnancy pillow situated just right and was snuggled in bed when my hubby walked in and sat on the edge of his bed.
Humm...this seemed off. I asked if everything was okay, when he mentioned he might have fallen off his bike on the way home. Like I said, we really like to have fun up here and a drunken bike race home is pretty standard, so I didn't think much of it, until he mentioned he might need stitches.
Within the second I was up and over to his side of the bed (trust me, not easy). I checked out his chin, and not knowing anything about stitches I told him he looked good and guided him into the bathroom to get a better look. I quickly dialed my sister, yes, the other prego one, to pop up and give me a second opinion.
When she saw the cut in the light she decided that maybe he didn't need stitches, but would certainly need butterfly stitches or glue to make sure everything healed all right. Our friend Ashley was with her too, and she seconded that opinion. So at midnight I pulled on my yoga pants and a sweatshirt, left A's monitor with my sister, and hubby and I headed for the ER.
Since we only summer up here and my family is not very accident prone, I only knew of the little medical center that sits just outside of the closest town. As we pulled in to a very dim, and empty parking lot, I knew we were in trouble. The security guard informed me they were closed, but there was another hospital about 15 minutes away. So back in the car we went and headed a little further down the road.
After about an hour we were checked in, examined, and in a room waiting for the doctor to come in and stitch my husband's chin. Not long after, but 5 stitches later, we were heading back home...an unusually quiet husband and an unusually awake me pulled back into our driveway around 2am. I am glad he wasn't seriously hurt, because it sure did make for some serious laughs the next day.
I mean what would a throw-back cocktail party really be if it didn't involve a trip to the ER?