My kids are my everything. But I have a series of little fantasies, of ‘if only’ scenarios that occasionally run through my head. They go a little something like this…
I would like to….
Consistently have 8 hours sleep. Ok 7.
Wake up naturally (or perhaps by the sun streaming through the window) grab a cup of tea and then drift off for a little snooze.
Have a bath without a bath-toy stuck up my arse.
Drink sun-downers on a beach from 5-7 (Screw you tea/bed time!)
Amble round the supermarket looking at all the lovely food. Not arguing about pom-bears.
Go out for lunch and have it turn into a boozy dinner.
Go out for lunch and have it turn into a messy night.
Buy the Sunday papers and read them. Rather than have them cluttering the house ’til Wednesday when I inevitably throw them out, having only looked at the pictures.
Wear clothes that don’t have access to my tits.
Say ‘yes sure! why not?’ to the offer of a gig that night.
Live in some sort of minimalist impractical house: candles burning, expensive unwipeable fabrics. Perhaps some dangerous steps leading to to a dangerous swimming pool. And an open fire.
Lose myself and an afternoon in a book.
Be those people casually enjoying champagne and oysters at the airport. Who are these people?
Own an expense diary that doesn’t get scribbled on .
Own a nice pen that doesn’t get hidden to avoid scribbling. And then consequently lost.
Spend a holiday working on my tan (old school).
Partake in conversations that are a) well-inform b) constitute conversations.
Try on a few a different outfits in the morning (again, old school).
Get round to buying some new knickers.
* a lot of this would never have actually happened even before kids. But, you know…