I noticed when you left for work this morning your shoulders were hanging a little heavy… that the light had gone out in your eyes.
I imagine it might have something to do with the tiny tyrant who had you up at 4am, insisting you feed him hot milk and biscuits, that you watch dinosaurs together on the TV whilst he intermittently crushed your testicles.
For taking this hit, I wanted to say THANK YOU.
Thank you for letting me sleep in, even if I was clinging to the edge of the bed with my bum cheeks whilst our daughter lay horizontally across the covers. It was significantly better than being roared at in the face and having to watch the T-Rex episode of Andy’s Dinosaurs for the 60th time before the sun had even come up.
Oh how I laugh looking back at us before we became parents. Our evening strolls to the pub post work, our lazy Sundays. “We won’t let it change us,” we promised optimistically. But, of course it does, and it has.
THANK YOU for surviving the daily grind with good humour and grace.
Because you get to leave this hellhole house every day to go to work, whilst I rear our offspring in a similar fashion to farm animals, it is assumed you are living the dream. To be able to have a break, have a shit on your own, drink a hot cup of tea. But I know this is not the case.
It can’t be easy when your day is scattered with aggressive text messages about the behaviour of YOUR children. To feel you need to rush home to save your wife. Who you find hanging from the window waiting for your arrival, wine in hand, on an almost daily basis.
THANK YOU for not telling me to fuck off when I immediately pounce on you, chastising you some inane reason like forgetting something from the supermarket or not phoning the bank. I know your brain is barely able to function, much the same as mine.
THANK YOU for always pretending to find me sexy, even when my legs are hairy and I haven’t noticed the mascara smudged around my eyes. It can’t be fun shagging Chewbacca, but you never complain.
Turns out, having children is HARD. Not just for the parent on the front line but for both parties. Never-ending battles about who got up in the night most, who has changed the rankest nappies, and whose had the shittest day, isn’t a barrel of laughs for anyone. Particularly when you’ve just referred an argument between your kids because one of them looked at the other funny (FFS). Deep down I know this is as difficult for you as it is for me.
I admit, when I’m sat at home clock watching, it’s easy to become more than a little self-obsessed. THANK YOU for never calling me the selfish bitch I often am. For picking up the (Lego) pieces at the end of a long day and for holding me up, both metaphorically and physically, after I’ve fallen asleep on the sofa at 9pm like a slobbery old dog.
More often than not it’s all about “Mum”. My survival, my feelings, my sanity. THANK YOU for often being the somewhat neglected partner and for never giving up on this crazy old bird and our family.
I really couldn’t do this parenting lark without you.