Sunday 16 August 2015

Week 201- childfree, drinking and the impending sense of doom...

I've been childfree for a week.

And I thought it was going to be the business.

Yep, of course I expected I was going to miss the children. 

But six whole nights having an entire double bed to myself with the potential of going to bed past midnight and not panicking my face off about whether my day was going to start the next morning before 6am. Are you shitting me? This was going to be boss.

But, the best laid plans...

Day one was fine. I've had the odd night solo so no big deal. And it meant that I could watch The Good Wife back-to-back.

Day two and I'd cleaned the house from top to bottom when I got in from work, a job I'd been meaning to do pretty much since we moved in.

By day three I was starting to feel a bit jumpy. Like something was missing, that feeling you get when you might have left your card behind the bar of the pub and gone home. Or cced someone into an e-mail you didn't mean to. 

Just a bit nervous. A tad wobbly.

Day four and I was going a bit crackers.

I'd watched all the rest of series five of The Good Wife. There's nearly 20 episodes and it was gone 2am when I'd finished. And Will dies! Seriously?! How am I meant to feel about that at 1am when I'm 3/4 of the way through a bottle of Merlot and no one to talk to about it?

Day five and I meet some friends in the pub who are also all mums. 

Thank god. 

Too much wine and a minor celebratory spot (Dave Glover from Emmerdale in case you're wondering) and I'm starting to feel more human again.

Day six and it's there again but about a hundred times worse. 

That impending sense of doom. 

So far I've eaten all the chocolate in the house, including some cooking chocolate that's been welded to the back of the fridge for over a year and worked my way through most of the red wine we'd brought back from France. 

I go to my sister's and give my niece a big sniff. 

What the fuck has happened to me? 

I'm a mess. 

I miss my children with an ache I hadn't experienced before and it's totally shit. 

I've got a kind of nervous energy that makes me feel like I'm about to get bollocked on a major level at any given moment.

Day seven.

They're home.

Nancy invites me to accompany her for a poo and Thomas pulls up my t shirt and jabs his finger right into my belly button. 

Normality is restores. 

The feeling in my chest immediately disappears.

I'm going to have to man up. 

Because I can't be feeling like I'm having a faux heart attack if I'm away from them for more than ten seconds. 

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