Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was a total rich knob. Seriously as I sit here feeling like someone is continually jumping on my head watching a loop of ‘in the night garden’ ‘Peppa pig’ and ‘Thomas the tank engine’ I’m wondering if there are any available nanny’s out there who are in need of a kidney, because I will give them both if it means they will make Henry stop being such a little satanic beast and have a nap so that I can sleep off this hangover.
Going out always seems like such a luxury when you’re a mama, getting dressed up in un-slobbered on clothes and loosing the mum bun not to forget getting totally smashed off one bottle of wine because who has time to be hard-core and build up a tolerance to alchol when your life is filled with shitty nappies and play dates.
See I scrub up ok.
On the plus side it was a cheap night, I danced until my feet were sore (and I now have a blister the size of Japan on my right foot) and I laughed more than I have for aaaaages.
Today I have the hangover blues and have so far cried at the traffic jam I got stuck in after dropping paul off at his sisters, the fact that Henry won’t nap (asshole) and the fact that I lost my rag and actually called him an asshole out loud and felt guilty.
Not looking quite so good today.
I used to quite like hangover days slobbed out in front of the TV, eating crap and maybe a nice warm bath, now hangovers are the devil. They seem to get worse with old age and instead of pulling off the bed head chic look I once nailed last night’s eyeliner is still smudged around my eyes which look like piss holes in the snow making me resemble some kind of stoned panda. Every part of my body aches (who knew dancing was so good for your pelvic floor because seriously it feels like it’s been lifting weights, the money I spent on alchol may be an investment because I’m pretty sure I can do without a Tenna lady when I go to the trampoline Park now.
If only that 70 something year old bloke who thought grabbing my arse was a good chat up move could see me now! I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be asking me if I wanted a night cap in his retirement home I think he would be giving me cpr trying to bring me back to life.
Today Paul (who is also hungover) has buggered off leaving me with the smallest gremlin (see where Henry gets his assholeness from?) and since naps are apparently only acceptable when it’s inconvenient for me not when I need him to have one, Henry is being taken care of by the TV and cashing in on my alchol induced uselessness by trashing the house and doing every thing he knows he shouldn’t.
It’s a good job he is this cute.
Thank christ for my dad who has taken thomas out because I seriously think I would have been in prison by teatime if they had both been here playing this wierd game of rugby/wrestling they like to play, it’s basically a way of hurting each other in what they deem an acceptable way. Double win for them because it drives me fucking nuts.
If I hear the line “boys will be boys” one more time I am going too lose my shit! Boys will not be boys, boys will be evil little creatures who are sent to earth to drive us insane one near-death sofa dive to the next. Boys will be stubborn, too proud and forever full of energy and craziness. Boys will secretly plot to kill you slowly and painfully, death by fifa 17 boredom, death by danger induced Heart attack, death by choking on your tooth, which fell out as a result of a close line to the face during “rough play”. Boys will be fat to hard work most days, on hangover days boys will actually nearly kill you.
So thankyou Iggle piggle, thankyou Thomas the tank engine and thankyou Peppa pig (you spoilt whiney wench) for doing what I am incapable of today and entertaining my youngest child, all day. Bad parenting? Nope, bad parenting would be locking him in the shed with a slice of bread and a beaker of water while I watched teen mom re-runs and felt sorry for myself with a warm coffee which was the other (preferred yet neglectful) alternative today.
Happy Sunday lovelies, may your day be filled with hot coffee and cake. I’m just going to change Henry’s nappy which judging by the smell of my living room will be followed by a rushed visit to hug the toilet. 😷💩🙈