I remember the pre-children days when we could sleep in until nearly lunchtime. When we stayed up late but still got lots of rest.
Now its all a bit different.
The hour between 10pm and 11pm is when I should be tucked up in bed but instead is when I grasp a little bit of time for me, for this blog, for reading. I should be sleeping but instead I’m having that extra glass of wine that’s probably a bad idea and tapping away on my laptop. But despite being tired, despite needing to sleep I still need this time. I still need a bit of space. And yet I still yearn for that bit of sleep.
If people ask me what I want for my birthday next week, my answer is simple.
I want 24 hours in a hotel room on my own.
A lovely hotel room with room service, a well stocked mini bar and a deep bath.
I want white fluffy bathrobes, TV and no interruptions.
I want to start off with a hot bath in lovely smelling bath oils. Wrap myself in the robe whilst I drink a glass of champagne.
I want an afternoon nap, lazy hours reading my books, watching my backlog of unwatched TV and doing my knitting / crotchet without having to worry about small people trying to unravel it as fast as I can create it.
I want a room service dinner where it just arrives without me having to cook it and then, even better, I hand the finished tray to someone else and it goes away – no stacking the dishwasher, no soaking dishes, all gone – whoosh!
I want to stay up a bit late and it not to matter because I won’t be woken during the night.
I want to enjoy a night on my own in a bed covered in fresh linen without someone needing cuddles, or nursing, or spending hours fidgeting with my boobs (words cannot express how much I want Littler to stop this – we’re currently engaged in nighttime trench warfare over how much she has to be in touch with me. I love that she loves me, needs me, but I really am sick of my nipples being tuned like faulty radio dials for hours every night)
I want to wake up in the morning, realise its daylight and turn over and go back to sleep. To not have to try (and to fail) to listen to the noises of the small people and be woken up by them because they’ve trained me oh so well over the last three years.
I want to wake up in time for lunchtime and to slowly get myself up, to have another bath without someone chucking in plastic ducks or wanting to help wash my hair or threatening to dive in fully dressed and then to leave and go back to my family all refreshed.
And then suddenly it strikes me – I’ve not only moved on from fantasising about rather more raunchy bedroom antics, I’ve become Mrs Large… my alter ego is an elephant in a bath cap…