…it’s good to talk

So…yesterday was the worst day in my entire parenting career so far! 

In between pleading with my child, crying on the sofa and singing ‘ jingle bells’ like a christmas elf possessed, I became convinced I was the worst mum in the whole world. Clearly I had broken my child and I wasn’t much of a fan of this new defective model! 

By the time the husband came home, the carnage was over and the damn child was looking at us like butter wouldn’t f@#king melt (little s*!t). He had no trouble; bath time was a dream, snuggles and kisses all round. My mind was made up.

                                                           It was just me. 

In my dark place yesterday, the last thing I wanted to do was admit to anyone that I was defeated, that I needed help. I couldn’t even bring myself to call my husband. Clearly I can quite happily dole out pearls of wisdom but don’t exactly listen to my own ramblings! 

What an idiot! At swmiming today, conversation turned to how the babies were getting on. Surprise surprise, yesterday was not a great day for other Mummas too! The more we shared our war stories, the lighter I felt. I slid out from under the suffocating smog and got some much needed perspective on the whole thing. 

Once again, I should’ve thought what the wise woman would do. The wise woman would NOT have tried to bribe an 8 month old (the good old Santa threat didn’t really work this time) but would rather have sent out a distress call for wine and earplugs!

Ah well, I’m sure there will be a next time, I’ll give it a go then!