I have decided that weekends should now be renamed 'weak'ends. This is because the once celebrated end of the week has been replaced by more week, leaving you feeling, well, weak. The days just blur into one and you only realise when you smack your head trying to walk into the automated glass doors to pay a cheque into Barclays. That'll be a Sunday then. I remember the old feeling of getting home from work on a Friday - the glug glug of the wine pouring in my glass before a night in front of the telly or an impromptu date night. The chores could wait and I would stay up late; safe in the knowledge that I would have a lie-in in the morning and uninterrupted, peaceful sleep (that is, without a few kicks in the Gluteus Maximus due to my beloved's restless leg syndrome, or his whistle-sounding snores). Well, give me whistle sounding snores any day compared with shrill Albie screams (on the plus side, it's because of Albie I can no longer feel any restless leg kicks at night due to my Gluteus Maximus doubling in size. Cheers).
Men, on the other hand, need their weekends. They've had a hard week at the office after all and the last thing they need to come home to is a baby with colic. Women who have just had babies, on the other hand, are on one big jolly holiday - dancing and singing round the kitchen with their newborn tucked neatly in one arm as they bake chocolate muffins with the other and chuckle heartily whilst watching Jeremy Kyle - because who would have a life that depressing, right?!
Me. That's who. I do. I have been mopping up sick and trying to settle a baby for two hours whilst trying to unload the washing machine and getting the piles mixed up so now I don't even know which piles I've just washed and which are dirty because I've had 4 hours sleep and I'm now going to have to do the whole chuffing pile of washing again and I may as well just apply to be on Jeremy Kyle in the first place and get a DNA test done on who my child's father is because I'm hoping it proves it's not the once currently playing football... *sobs*.
Of course, I'm exaggerating; Albie's Dad most definitely is the one playing football. I have a deep rooted jealousy that he can do the things he wants - he can just 'nip' out when he wants. The only 'nipping out' I'm doing is... you get my gist. Okay so I'm just having a bad day; a bad weekend. Before you know it I'll be dancing round the kitchen and making chocolate muffins and my 'weak'ends will be weekends once more.
(Based on diary extract from 12/02/2011)
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