Why as parents do we torture ourselves over such simple things?
Yesterday I had a complete stress episode because my new bed was being delivered and I had to dismantle my old one. My other half is THE worst DIY man you will ever meet so it was up to me to take the bed down. Not only did I have to do this, but I also had to stitch up Violet’s Nativity costume (I now realise how much I took for granted the Vicar’s wife at my primary school who made about 20+ costumes for us and how annoyed she must of been when we would rip them accidentally my treading on the dangly bits of tinsel – MY BAD)
Anyway, so home I went to find Glenn trying to ‘smash up’ the old bed. Yes, my darling husband-to-be was trying to ‘smash up’ a bolted together metal bed with his bare hands. *Round of applause please*. So after that failed miserably, I got the alan key out and unscrewed the whole thing. Glenn then regained his macho status but carrying the parts downstairs. Well done babes..
I then zoomed off to my aunty’s house so she could stitch up Violet’s outfit at super speed on her sewing machine. Then went to collect Violet from my Dad’s house, back to mine to find my new King size bed had been delivered and my Mum and Stepdad trying to get the bloody thing upstairs. So I sat and watched them whilst sewing on tinsel to the bottom of Violet’s dress (the f**king needle kept being disguised by the f**king tinsel so I kept f**king stabbing myself!)
Fast forward an hour and a half and I’m lying down in my beautiful new bed, staring at the costume I have created but crying because I haven’t spent much time with Vi tonight. Made worse by the fact my hands were throbbing from all the stabs of the needle.
I really tortured myself. Looking through Instagram posts of everyone getting their advent calendars ready for their little ones in the morning. Then just to rub salt in the wound I started to stare at Vi and look at how beautiful she was sleeping.
Woke up this morning. Got dressed, got Vi ready, went to work and sat down. Looked back on the night before (If my boss is ready this – I was working hard at the same time!). Violet isn’t going to remember me not playing games with her for one night. She’s not going to look back on that night as the night that Mum looked at tinsel more than her. It’s not going to ruin her life.
She’s gonna be fine.
Whereas if I hadn’t made that costume, she would of gone to school with no costume and would of had to stand in her uniform whilst all the other children were dressed up ready to rehearse. And I would of then been crying last night because I hadn’t made her costume. I can’t win! So in hindsight, I wouldn’t of changed anything about the night before (apart from maybe wearing a bloody thimble).
Moral of the story: Just calm down Liv or in the words of Vi “chill out Mum”.