Diary of a Desperate Wife and Mother - aged 35...and a half

Never Again, Until The Next Time

Sunday

"Oh my God I think I might be dying!" When I woke at 4 am to vomit as I wrapped my arms around the toilet bowl with my clammy face resting against the cold porcelain that is what I chanted in between a series of 'never again' cries.

I am never drinking again because I am rubbish at it and as such I will never again have giddy, drunken sex because as good as it feels to be inhibition free at the time it is always bad afterwards! Paul loves me to go on a girl's night because I get drunk and do and say bad things, dirty bad things when I get home, but then he expects repeat performances over the following weeks when all I want to do is to pretend it was a dream. It might be my upbringing, or my Catholic guilt, I dunno, but after my performance last night and it was one hell of a performance I may not be able to face him until Christmas, and we haven't celebrated Easter yet!

Sitting at the kitchen table I am sipping water, very slowly and hoping the headache and nausea that is taunting me will go away as I reflect on my Saturday night and Sunday morning. I know I scrub up ok when I put the effort in but I am still stunned that Paul found my recently vomited face in any way appealing, but he did. When I literally crawled back into bed after forging a deep and meaningful relationship with the toilet Paul wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in close which I was glad of because I was bloody freezing at that point and then he began to nuzzle my neck as he made references to it being Sunday morning. I think he got that it was a definite no after my third or fourth effing hell! My diary might be my only salvation today which is why I am risking vomiting over it as I jot down my morning thoughts.

Now I know I said I hated shopping Saturday, but super cleaning Sunday with a hangover and sex shame might make shopping seem like a dream come true, but I do always feel better once the house is clean, but getting it there might be a real challenge today. Finn does still have homework, a book review and I can feel my stress rising at the thought of that! I need pain relief and maybe a lie on the settee with the dog.

Today was actually worse than I could have imagined when I got up and I had it pegged as a pretty tough one!

After my sleep on the settee I found Paul standing over me, smiling, which should have been nice, it wasn't as he still had his sex face on! I did accept the cup of tea he offered and also managed to keep a slice of toast down.

Cleaning was inevitable, hangover or not and I started upstairs and simply ploughed on until it was done. It was mid-afternoon by the time I'd finished and I felt rough to say the least. Nobody had given any thought to lunch not that I was sure I was even capable of facing a roast dinner never mind keep one down. Paul suggested going out for lunch and I considered sending Paul and the kids while I remained at home but he seemed to sense what I was thinking and quickly circumvented that by calling the local carvery to check they had a table.

When we arrived for dinner I was barely hanging onto the contents of my stomach with the noise in the busy restaurant and the mingled smells of starters, roast dinners and desserts. Fortunately there were no stale beer smells because that would have been far too much for my delicate disposition. Paul placed an arm around my waist and landed a gentle kiss to my temple and reassured me that I could do this. I smiled at his faith in me and then my stomach lurched at the sight of my parents heading towards us.

We all sat together. I had wondered if Paul had invited my parents to join us, he hadn't, they had been on their way back from the garden centre. I picked at my dinner which only drew the attention of my parents, my mother's especially who viewed every move I made with suspicion and then the penny dropped for me when I actually winced at my Dad's offer of a glass of wine. Shit, my mother thought I was pregnant and I honestly couldn't blame her, I was behaving like I had when I was pregnant with Scarlett, before I knew I was pregnant, unlike my mother who knew before anyone else. Once the torture of dinner was over I was glad to return home, having managed to tell my mother that I wasn't pregnant, she didn't look convinced!

Paul bathed Finn and once he was in clean pyjamas I embarked on the homework. I mean, who asks a 5, almost 6 year old boy to write a book review, bloody hell, I struggle to write anything half decent on Amazon but Mrs Forbes clearly has higher expectations than me, or at least delusions. We're going to review his school library book which was about penguins!

I read the questions and then helped Finn to write his responses.

Question 1 - why did you choose this book? I laughed at my son's response which was a mistake because then he could see no reason for dressing his reason up as anything else, so his reason? Because Robert had already got the Batman book and Mrs Forbes told me to just choose something!

Question 2 was 'what did you like best'? Again Finn was resolute in his response – the bit where the Dad spits up the milk stuff. I swear I actually gagged at that point.

Question 3 – 'what didn't you like'? I felt teary with his response to that one – when the mum goes hunting and leaves the baby with the dad because I'd miss my Mummy. He then ruined it by continuing with, and the dad will probably forget to send a packed lunch to school, but he won't make you have a bath every night. He was reflecting on the one day and night I left Paul in charge.

Question 4 – my personal favourite. 'What you say to someone thinking of reading this book'? – don't, it's a bit boring and the penguins don't sing or dance!

Finn was thrilled with his book review, me not so much so. I considered adding an apology for Mrs Forbes but I don't need her to judge me any more than she already does. At least bloody Monique won't be privy to my boy's critique. I bet her son's, Ned, I kid you not, his name is Ned, I have no clue what Ned is even short for, but I bet his review is double spaced with a full plot synopsis of War and Peace or whichever book he chose.

It is official, I hate Sundays, alcohol, homework and everything involving Monique and Ned and their perfectness. I need to go to bed because I am bitching about a child in my head that is banging. The fact that Paul is looking at me, optimistically, and I am certain has just quoted one of my lines from last night involving the words big, hard and again only adds to my conviction that I have created a monster! I need to sleep and I definitely do not need to read any of my own adolescent musings because if I do I might have to smack myself for my younger naivety of what my life would really entail.

Goodnight!