She was up loads in the night and as always, I dealt with it alone. Restless, whiny and clingy (her), livid, grouchy and stabby (me).
This morning consisted of a thirty minute nap which is unusual even though her routine is pretty out of whack anyway. But I thought it would help her bad mood. It didn't.
A trip out. Yes, that would work. We'll go out with Auntie Ellie for frozen yoghurt (my new addiction) and perhaps ten minutes in the Disney store would sort her out. It didn't.
A bottle, that would work. She'd be happier after a bottle seeings as she's pretty much refusing all food right now. It didn't.
A bath, yes. A bath always works. It didn't.
So, as I said, today has been a write off.
But it isn't entirely her fault (or maybe it is). I'm
I miss being reckless and drunk and hungover and stupid and irresponsible. I miss it so much my heart hurts. I love her, I love being a Mum. But I can see why women walk away from their responsibilities (for god sake, don't take that and twist it - I'm going nowhere).
I want skinny and vodka and clear skin and laughing til you're sick and staying out late and nice shoes and wolf whistles and looks of lust and head turning and loud music and The White Hart and an hour in Zara and a disposable income. Just for one day. Just one day. I want to be me again, the old me.
Don't tell me you don't feel the same....