Something weird happened the other day. It was my turn for a lie in (which basically involves hiding in bed and dicking about on my phone without judgement) and it was uncharacteristically peaceful. More often that not lie ins are peppered with shouting, crying, squawking and children running in and out of the bedroom to jump on you etc etc.
At about 9.30am I went downstairs to investigate and survey the damage. Get this – there was none!
I could only hear happy children and I could only feel a strange sense of calm. I walked into the kitchen to find J sat at the table.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked
‘Sitting in the kitchen.’ he replied.
‘Just having my coffee…’ he explained
‘Sitting in the kitchen and drinking your coffee?!’
‘Yeh. I’ve Just been reading my book’.
‘SITTING IN THE KITCHEN, DRINKING YOUR COFFEE AND READING YOUR BOOK? WHAT?!’
I looked at him again, it was not a mirage, he was really and truly doing all of these things. They are three of my favouritist things to do in the world…
Was this some sort of fucked up, parallel universe in which being a parent allows you to do nice things for yourself?