Don't pity me

Writing this note makes me sad. It makes me sad because there’s no reason why I should feel like I need to write this. This, what I am about to write, should be implicitly understood and respected. But it is not. And so here I write - here I scream from the bloody rafters, if you will: being a mother is the best bloody thing I have ever done.
Do not pity me, do not think your life is better than mine because you can still fit into your size ten jeans and you go to sleep each night without mashed banana in your hair. It is not.
Do not assume I want to go on girlie holidays and now am sad I cannot. I can, by the way, but I do not want to. I want to go on holidays with my girl. I want to hold her hands while she feels the sea run over her chubby feet. I want to blow soft raspberries on her pudgy belly under a sun umbrella, hold her close to me in a swimming pool as she flaps with delight. I want to fall asleep in the middle of the day next to her and wake to her beautiful face next to mine, babbling. I’ll take the nappies, the shrieks, the lack of sleep. I’ll take it all fifty times over to have these moments with my girl.
I do not want to go to clubbing. I am 35 and clubbing makes me feel old. Although it’s not an age thing. I haven’t wanted to go clubbing for years. I want to lie in the still night and listen to my girl breathe and snort. I want to feed her in the half light of the moon. You like clubbing, I do not. But it is not as a consequence of being a mother.
Do not assume that my life is easy, do not assume it is hard. It is both. Loving her is easy and, luckily for me, natural. Parenting is hard, harder than anything I have ever done and infinitely more rewarding.
Do ask after her. She exists. Do ask how she is, what is she doing. You’ll see a light come on behind my eyes as I tell you. If you love me, you must love her.
Do continue to ask me out for drinks, meals, plays. Our friendship has not altered and I want to know what is going on in your life. I love you, but don’t pity me.

Home alone

My husband has been away with work for the last four days. I honestly did not know how I was going to cope with an almost-three-month-old, two cats (one ill, one obsessed with food), all the bloody fish (that keep shagging and having more fish) and a crumbling, broken house.

I’m not going to lie, it’s been hard, but there have been laugh out loud moments where I’ve thought “if only *anybody* could see this”.
Here are some examples of this:

*speaking to the fat cat as if it can answer me eg “should I have lasagne or fish pie? Lasagne? Oh, ok then”.
*attempting salt dough plaques. Nives covered in paint, ill cat caught licking plaque.
*scrubbing hall carpet in nighty
*doing YMCA for Nives
* attempting to make tea while singing to Nives.

There have also been moments of beauty. The ill cat got better (not because of the paint, before you ask), the fat cat caught Nives’ attention and she tried to reach for it, we’ve had lovely baths together, been swimming, had an impromptu picnic (three chocolate bars) and I feel closer to her generally. We now have a sort of nighttime routine, which is adorable, and I think, I think, I heard a laugh.

Even the fish were treated to some bubbles. That said, I did catch the fat cat sitting on the tank more than once, so it’s not been the best week for them.