A Rather Wonderful Mother’s Day
It was Mother’s Day. The morning was off to a promising start despite the twisted irony of British Summer Time screwing with what was possibly a mother’s most undeniable right to have a lie-in in the whole year. The baby _ he’s three but we’ll go with baby _ came into the bed at an acceptable hour, cuddled without wedging his foot into mummy’s lungs and it was all very rainbows and unicorns. They all got up and mummy managed to have a hot cup of coffee and breakfast _ yes, both _ and got some lovely cards. Winning.
Then it was off to the park.
The sun was shining, hope and happiness were positively bouncing off every flowered covered tree branch and even a half drunken vodka bottle left on the pavement from someone’s Saturday’ night was gleaming non-threateningly in the mid morning glow.
The park was nice; for about 10 minutes before some snotty kids eating boxes of chicken littered one of the rides and daddy went apeshit on them and we both took our eye off the baby for 5 seconds which of course was enough time for him to climb up to the top of a very, very, very VERY tall climbing frame thingy and make mummy get sweat patches on her nice shirt. After that he was off to prove a point. He decided a slide wasn’t gonna cut it and it would be so much better to ride up and down a muddy hill on his stomach and top it off with a run in front of a swing nearly getting his head smashed open. Then mummy lost her shit, everyone got back home amid screams for biscuits and apples and the same vodka bottle looked disgusting in the dimming light of the gathering clouds.
Then daddy, who was going to cook mummy a lovely Japanese lunch, was gone for two hours trying to find a gas canister to use on his new take-to-the-table stove and getting stuck in traffic while mummy was taking a ready meal for kids out of the freezer and giving it to the screaming baby who loved nothing more than to eat it with his hands and rub them all over his hair. The meal was curry. Mummy then did her bit to screw up the future of the planet and used up a whole pack of baby wipes to clean the curry from inside his ears and nose. Mummy now smelled of onions and cumin.
Mummy then spent another 40 minutes putting baby down for a nap and putting some laundry in the machine because let’s face it, it was Sunday. She muttered under her breath that this was all quickly going down hill before realising the baby was now asleep and she was alone in the house. She hesitated euphorically between doing a celebratory dance, sitting down with a book, browsing social media while not hiding in the loo, or putting on a fruity face mask. It was like being on the Wheel of Fortune and the clock was ticking, waiting for an answer. Before she knew it her time was up.
Daddy got home with two bunches of pretty flowers and his gas canister and cheerfully realised that it didn’t fit into his lovely new cooker. So he took to the stove. He cooked a beautiful meal and there was even some sake too which creeps up on you faster than Freddy Kruger on a dark alley. Mummy and Daddy were now effectively pissed. Feeling all warm inside and seeing half a ray of sunshine outside mummy decided to have coffee and cake in the garden. It’s lovely out, she said, freezing her tits off as she aspirated her coffee, swallowed the cake and got back inside.
Then mummy went to get the baby from his nap because there’s nothing quite like warm baby just up from a nap to cuddle against and defrost. They cuddled for 3 and a half gorgeous, warm and meaningful minutes, enough time for mummy’s ovaries to start getting ideas, and then the baby screeched TVVVVV!! and mummy thought how nice it was to never ever need contraceptives again.
Mummy got up and the baby was left alone for 5 minutes in which he managed to get onto a YouTube channel of computer generated made in China nursery rhymes featuring some creepy babies with red eyes and songs to make you want to gauge your own eyes off with a rusty spoon and dad chose this moment to go to the shed to “find a tool” leaving mummy with the YouTube video of the creepy babies and no more sake. And when daddy came back she told him that if he didn’t get her a large glass of prosecco there would be hell to pay. Then mummy asked is it time for baby’s dinner yet, but it wasn’t because the hour had changed and he had been allowed to nap for 300 hours.
Then daddy had a lovely idea and said ‘what about cheese and foie gras and more prosecco for dinner?’ so mummy got up, cooked the baby a meal he actually ate and then sat down with daddy and they gorged on cheese, ham, foie gras and prosecco, feeling their life expectancy shrink with each mouthful. And then daddy said ‘well as long as Trump is driving the bus we might as well. More prosecco?’ And mummy said yes, and they laughed and had more prosecco and still managed to give the baby a bath. The baby took two hours to fall asleep and then mummy and daddy watched Homeland with one eye open and agreed on what a terrible mother Carrie is and that at least they don’t work for the CIA or have an alcohol problem (err..) and they felt much better. Mummy thanked daddy for the best mother’s day she had ever had and went to bed.
And then she realised the laundry was still inside the machine.