Hungover Valentines

Our Valentine’s Days have always been like Marvin Gay’s, “Let’s get it on,” kind of days, and my husband and I always had the batteries charged ready for a marathon–if you know what I mean.

But, last Sunday, the only thing that got “turned on” was the nebulizer machine to do breathing treatments for our little son who had an asthma crisis the week before.

Winter weather in Jacksonville, FL is very inconsistent, and it can change dramatically from 40 to 70 degrees in a matter of hours. Humidity flares up and combines with pollen, turning the atmosphere into a disease bubble for allergic kids like mine. Nevertheless, we have battled his condition since he was 15 months old and we know exactly what to do.

The problem though, is that we have aged in five years and sleep deprivation—which was very hard to endure when our son was a newborn–is now the kryptonite that makes us feel like overcooked linguine the next day because of a sleepless night.

There are many things that are important to me, and many I could live without–for example my hair-dryer, air conditioning, pedicures, and even chocolate which is a serious stretch!—but don’t take away my eight hours of sleep, because I become a useless zombie, or what my husband says, “It rhymes with itch!”

Since the offset of my son’s allergy crisis ten days ago, I have been functioning on autopilot mode. I am amazed at how many tasks—such as getting ready in the morning, making breakfast, packing my son’s lunch, and driving my son to school and then myself to work—are second nature in my daily routine.

If that weren’t the case, I probably would end up wearing my husband’s clothes, serving dog food to my son for breakfast, packing him Italian roast coffee for lunch, and driving myself to preschool to learn ABCs instead of to my office.

I wish I could go to bed at five p.m. like the hens and resolve my sleep deficiency. But, the night shift has its own long routine in preparation for the next day. Between cleaning the kitchen, folding laundry, getting my son ready for bed, and following the beauty ritual to slow down the aging process on my face, I can never snuggle before 11 p.m.

The morning of Valentine’s Day, our bed was a mess–not the product of a long passionate night, but a night of tossing, coughing and punching. The past few nights that our son woke up in the middle of the night breathless, he turned our bed into a cage for a Pay-Per-View MMA fight. Either my husband or I got kicked out the bed in pain due to our little man’s incredible accuracy to hit our privates under the covers. I wish I had a straight-jacket child size!

I will remember the past holiday as “Hungover Valentines,” even though we didn’t have a drink. Nevertheless, we celebrated as a family. We enjoyed the day and loved each other as only a pair of zombies could. We walked, shuffling our feet, and we hugged, waiting for our arms to fall off.

But like Yogi Berra would say “It ain’t over till it’s over,” so before midnight, Cupid shot us with an energy dart!!!

Thanks for reading and sharing.

Xiomara Spadafora

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