8:00pm:  Arrive at New Years party.  Greeted by 20 people who each, in turn, ask me how I’m feeling.

8:30 pm: Consume a brick of fudge that was meant to feed entirety of party.

8:32 pm: Regret said consumption of fudge as right leg begins to twitch.

9:00 pm: Begin obligatory designated driver duties by picking up people from train station.

9:20 pm: After 21^st person asks me how I’m feeling, animatedly fill them in on my constipation issues.

9:40 pm: Notice people have stopped talking to me.

10:00 pm: Sing a horrible karaoke rendition of  “I’m So Excited” that I can’t blame on alcohol consumption.

10:30 pm: Have imaginary conversation with unborn child, where I remind her of all the sacrifices I made for her.

10:32 pm: Ask baby if she would mind if I had one teensy, tiny glass of wine.  She responds by kneeing me in the spleen.

11:20 pm: Drunk acquaintance puts her hands on my stomach and swears she can feel baby kicking.  I explain that, in fact, it is my foot kicking her, and not the fetus.  She does not take hint.

11:45 pm: Fill my champagne glass with sparkling cider for the New Year’s toast.

11:46 pm: Secretly fill as many glasses as possible with sparkling cider so others will feel my sober pain.

12:00 am: As people scream “Happy New Year!” and blow on noisemakers and trumpets, unborn child recoils from noise by kicking her way through my ribcage.

12:20 am: Drop off people at train station.  While waiting, notice a piece of fudge wedged in my cleavage, which I devour eagerly.

12:35 am: Fall asleep under a pile of coats.

2:20 am: Husband wakes me so I can drive us home.