Last Friday, I needed to get Harlow to her ultrasound appointment by 12.20pm. For reasons that only a parent can truly understand, I was still in my dressing gown at 11.30am. The house was a fucking mess and Bren would be home soon to watch the boys while I took Harlow to her appointment. Not because he demands it but because I desperately wish to convey my togetherness by having the house spotless when Bren comes home, it dismayed me to discover that Luca and Ziggy were busy transferring every toy they owned from the play room to their bedroom.
What the fuck is the point of having a damn play room? A room dedicated just to their play?
I tell you, the under 6 crowd, they just don't get it.
I said to hell with it all and hopped in the shower.
Harlow began crying at about the exact moment the shampoo hit my hair and she didn't stop until her face was tear-streaked and blotchy and my blood pressure was rocketing.
Then Bren walked in.
I wonder why I bother cultivating the myth of the perfect housewife. He knows I am no such thing. He loves me anyway.
He immediately scooped the now silent baby from my arms so that I could brush my teeth and look at my reflection in despair.
I put on mascara and blush and felt a titch better. Just a titch. Sometimes a titch will get you over the line. Sometimes a titch is everything.
I arrived at the appointment with two minutes to spare but then turned the car back around because I had forgotten my referral from the doctor.
I arrived six minutes late.
Everything turned out to be fine with Harlow's hips.
I cried anyway.
I know I have been singing the praises of my life of late. I have mostly glowing words to say about my new daughter. And it's all true. I am happy and grateful – that is the summary of my life currently. When I lay my head down at night or when I am reflecting in the Little Weeks posts, the overwhelming emotion is joy and gratitude.
Naturally, the day to day reality is less glowing. The day to day is a series of things I have to do for other people, a never-ending list of responsibilities and only a liar would say that this doesn't weigh heavily on them at times.
A friend went away recently for a writer's conference and the Facebook photos of her hotel room where she was ALL ALONE left me aching with jealousy.
It's quite possible to have everything you ever dreamed of and still want more.
Nothing ostentatious though. Just a day or so alone without the burden of 'to-do' would be really, really nice.