Fifty shades of red.


On Saturday morning Mr B and his BFF got home just half an hour before Amazing M woke up for the day. Needless to say I was not impressed and my attempts to get him to wake up and give M some milk were initially fruitless. He mumbled, “Tomorrow” when I poked him for the third time.

“It is tomorrow!” I hissed back while I cancelled an afternoon tea date with a lovely girlfriend via text. In my opinion Mr B was in no state to look after Amazing M. I couldn’t be galavanting around town with him being over the legal limit, hung over and not ‘looking after’ M properly.

After a few more pokes, he shuffled to the kitchen to prepare M’s milk. How he managed that task I do not know.

While the boys were sleeping off the alcohol, I took M to the hotel just opposite our flat for a full buffet breakfast. My pissedoffedness vanished when I saw the food on offer.  For the next hour we had a lovely time scoffing fruit, yogurt, cereals, bread, fish, and a full English for the finale.

However! As Mr B was sleeping off his gin and tonics, my annoyance increased. It was slowly but surely morphing into anger. My thoughts went something like this:

“How dare he be so inconsiderate as to come home so late and leave me to look after M, knowing full well I had made plans!!”

“How can one be so friggin’ selfish?” “Typical only child!” and so on. Not very delicious.

In true deliciousmother fashion, these thoughts came and went until Sunday evening – one minute I’d be joking around with Mr B, the next minute I would be huffing and puffing about a wasted weekend. And it was partly my fault as I was playing martyr. What I could have done was to go out to town with my friend on Saturday and spent the Sunday with the family in a good mood.

But no, I was playing martyr.

So I guess what I need to do next time, nay, ALL the time, is to honour my plans and wishes so that

a) Mr B won’t get an earful all weekend,

b) Amazing M will be shielded from a cranky and resentful mother and

c) I get what I need, which is some non mummy time with non mummy friends.

If I had looked after me first (and just left the house when I needed to), Amazing M would have had a much better weekend probably watching Cbeebies with daddy on Saturday afternoon and playing with a happy mummy and daddy on Sunday. Sorry, M. Next time mummy will not be a martyr.


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