Dear gorgeous person reading my blog.
I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve been being honest.
In my bid to look at “funny” side of having poo smeared on my jeans before a TV appearance, and screaming tantrums that involve train throwing, and sleep depreviation so severe my coffee machine wees on the floor and I am left lying in the foetal position trying to lick it up, I have inadvertantly caused the impression that I “have it all together”.
Yes, people have gotten the impression that I have a nanny. Or a house cleaner. Or a “person”. Or some kind of super power that enables me to bugger off to Shanghai for a couple of days, or attend 3 day conferences, or have a shower more than three times a week.
I’m sorry if I have given you this impression.
So, whilst I was sitting here, mulling over this dilemma whilst my personal, live-in massage therpist was giving me a good going over, and my nails were drying after the manicure / pedicure I’d just endured and my children were being supervised by … oh, someone else … I realise that *sob* I haven’t been honest with you.
Diary has always been about my daily … hmm, lets call them “parenting experiences”, designed intitially for me to be self-absorbed and remind (read: force) myself to laugh at what I’ve encountered during my day and stop myself from falling ino the abyss that is depression. Again.
It’s not fun down there.
It’s also made some other people laugh. And cry. And relate. Which is lovely.
But I have been holding back on some stuff, and there’s more in my head