It’s a good day today. The kids are happy, the usual household chaos is at manageable status, my hair is even done (i.e. scraped up into a strange messy bun with a thousand bobby pins). I’ll get dinner organised soon, perhaps throw in a sneaky trip to K-Mart (aka Mecca) and might even snag a nap when my toddler has hers.
You know, the kind of day that twenty-something me would have shuddered at as she threw back another fruit tingle and shimmied on a sticky dance floor to some quality noughties RnB tracks on a night out with the girls. Now, at 33, with two young kids and another one on the way, this is the kind of day I crave.
A day of dullness. A day of bunging on another load of washing and playing Lego with my five year-old while the toddler helpfully tries to eat it. A run-of-the-mill, mundane, somewhat soul-numbing day of life as a stay at home mum.