… but it has been rather a crappy old week.
I am sure that I won’t be bursting any bubbles here when I admit that life at Bibsey Towers isn’t always a bed of roses. We are human after all and let’s face it when you have a man and a women and then a baby in a confined space there are going to be days, there are going to be whole weeks in fact, when life is just tricksy.
After the dust has settled
Mr B and I have just had one of the those weeks. Not only has it been raining rather a lot but we have also been getting on each others’ tits. And I have spent a good deal of time muttering over the kitchen sink (where I do much ‘word processing’) and various domestic appliances as I go about my business. Yes, muttering eloquently. Putting forward rational, lucid and undeniable arguments to the bottle brush and friends. Generally rehearsing for the next bout with Mr B.
And to make matters worse all the skype pals, including my incredibly selfish sister (so not true), have been off gallivanting in their Easter Bonnets (for all I know) in areas out of reach.
Somewhat frustratedly I have found that daydreaming about the perfect flounce-out-to-serve-him-right-so-then-he’ll-be-sorry-and-realise-how-bloody-lucky-he-is is not nearly as much fun as it used to be. These days a girl has to consider, not only her exit outfit and what she might chuck in her dinky little, gorgeous little wheely suitcase, before popping off to get drunk with girlfriends on her lovely London salary, but also: babybuggy, travelcot, baby pharmacy, favourite toys, bottles and food etc and then of course she must ask for some cash. Not so much a dramatic exit as a bit of a prolonged and flabby fart in his general direction.
Kiss and makeup
Anyway, I am pleased to be able to report that we have entered a period of détente – shall we say a relaxation of strained relations, as between nations (who are not quite at war, but a little bit wary and weary of each other). Two grownups with a small child in a small house in a small Spanish village in Spain must find a way to make peace or life becomes very poor indeed.
Right now we are both missing our friends and feeling some of the downsides of the smallness of our life here. Also, any rift between us always shines a bright light on the sheer dimensions of the responsibility that parenthood has brought. There is just so much more at stake these days.
As yet, we haven’t killed each other, so I imagine that in the long run all this will make us stronger. I have come out the other side of this week feeling better and maybe a little wiser about love, life and motherhood.
I will end with some helpful words from a very dear, old, old friend “My advice is to recover quickly and bare no grudges. As mothers we have to be selfless darling, in order for everything to tick along, especially if you have a partner who is likely to be a cock every now and then”.
Was anyone else out there visited by the Easter Barney? How do you recover and where do you escape to to lick your wounds? William and Kate need not apply.
