Yesterday evening I uttered the words, as I stormed out the bathroom, ‘I don’t want to be a mum anymore.’ I half expected lightning to come out the sky and strike me down dead.
This was the culmination of a weekend where things didn’t work out my way. I didn’t get a free ticket to the Big Day Out (tale to come), I had to decide whether to go to Sydney, or the Slippery Nipple revisited (I couldn’t do both), I’d been at the pub and felt like the third wheel while trying to keep my son a little bit quiet during the recording of the live band. I will be interested to hear that one as I wonder if him yelling out, I’ve just been to the toilet, will be heard over the music.
The third wheel thing – a good friend of mine has met a bloke. There’s nothing sexual happening, even though she would like it to, but they get on extremely well, to the detriment of everyone around them. It might as well be new love. Even though another friend was there I still felt ignored and unloved. And Jaycee Junior was roaring around the place ignoring me also.
We left the pub after the band finished to tantrums galore because being the party animal he is, he didn’t want to leave. We got home and it took him half an hour to eat dinner. I fought to get him into the bath and now I can’t even remember what triggered the I don’t want to be a mum comment anymore, but I said it as I stormed to the fridge to pour myself a glass of wine from the cask within.
Of course I didn’t mean it then and I don’t mean it now. I love my son to bits but he does give me the shits (that could be a song title). I got over my comment and ended up reading him a story about the seven dwarfs and a diamond mine that I had as a kid. So the night ended on a positive note with love in the air.
