Confession Time

It is probably completely typical of the way things are at the moment, when at 03:53am I have the terrible realisation that some bloke is coming to measure for a new carpet tomorrow, I haven’t done any washing so I have no clean underwear or trousers and, most horrifying, the bloody seat from the Jumperoo is in the washing machine. Where in God’s name am I supposed to put the baby whilst I shove everything in the hall cupboard so the carpet man doesn’t think I am untidy?

I suppose he’s going to so shocked by the fact that I am going to have to greet him with no trousers that he might not actually notice the fact that my house is an utter tip.

I think I had my shit together for about a week, a week where I got my daughter and myself dressed and downstairs before breakfast, we went into the kitchen and I made her food whilst tidying up. That week I even hoovered every day. It was a blissful week were absolutely everything was lovely.

Then my husband started a row of night shifts and it all went to shit.

The only advantage to my significant other doing the night shift is that there’s more room in our double bed. Everything else about it is completely pants. It isn’t just about the fact that he’s not there overnight, that’s probably the easiest part of it. It’s the fact that he’s not there in the morning, afternoon or evenings too.

I love my daughter, that goes without saying, but I love her that little bit more when I can have five minutes to myself. Or manage to wash some clothes. Or even, and this really is the Holy Grail, have a wee in peace.

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