11 days of emptying bins, crawling out of bed at every waking and taking 2 minute showers whilst hoping nobody tries to kill themselves.
11 days of emptying the dishwasher, figuring out why the TV keeps buzzing and eating cereal for my dinner.
11 days dragging two wayward children out on the banana/yoghurt/milk run and 11 days with no one to pour me a glass of wine after a hard day.
[I am lying here a bit because i had my lovely friend Janie stay with me for 3 nights and also a child free night away in London but that makes it all sound a bit less melodramatic and if i’m honest i have enjoyed playing the ‘woe is me’ card on and off. I have also enjoyed the only farts in the bed being mine]
But it was still 11 days without J and If that was a long time to me then it felt like half a lifetime to a 3 year old. There were 11 days of questions asked; ‘How many sleeps until daddy comes back?‘ and obviously the more important ‘and he is going to get me a really, really big present right?’
