Things are going wrong. Drastically wrong. A sure sign I suspect, that things are beginning to go right. There aren’t many people who know me well who wouldn’t use the words ‘anally retentive’ at least once in a three word choice to describe me. Colour coded charts are my passion. Checklists and to-do lists are my best friends. Perfect retail therapy? A rampage in a stationary shop – the more colour segmented notepads and highlighter pens the better.
- I let the girls watch TV still in their pyjamas. At 3pm.
- I took them to Eddie Rockets for burger and chips because I couldn’t be bothered to make tea and fancied somewhere that threw away the plates
- I didn’t wait for the girls to be in bed before I opened a bottle of wine – it was 6.15 and the sun was shining, and I thought I should raise a toast to the glowing sky
- I didn’t retch, scream, or pull out my hair when circumstances of a day out meant Ruby didn’t go down for her 12 o’clock sleep until 3pm.
- One day I rejected every pore in my body and sat on the sofa while Ruby slept and the girls played and ……. read my book. I did not hoover. I did not bake. I did not clean behind the pot plants. I read. A Book.
That was how my precious baby who only eats home-cooked organic foods celebrated her 3/4 year – with a chip in each hand and 4 in her gob.
I’m wallowing in my wrongness. I’m rather hoping this week is an utter disaster.