So while the Husband finished his shift in the Big Smoke last night and swaggered off to some glitzy trendy bar to meet up with his London friends...AND stay the night...my Friday night was typically nuts in the land of domesticity.
While he supped copious amounts of beer and spoke to real adults about proper things, without being interrupted every ten seconds by a child needing a wee, poo or food, and no doubt ending the fabulous evening on a high with shots of Sambuca, I walked around the house with my hands held up to my face in pure Edvard Munch Style. I felt like screaming only I was too shattered from a 5am start.
Every room was trashed, except our bedroom which is always a haven of calm, it's the law.
Even though this little madam shares our bedroom.....and quite often our bed.
The Prince had pulled out every single pair of pants and chucked them on the floor of his bedroom. There were about 47 pairs of primary coloured Y fronts. Every single drawer was pulled out with a mass of clothing spilling out, toys all over the place, Lego all over the floor. It was like a down market charity shop. You know the ones. The ones that smell a bit funny and are more like a jumble sale and have weird ornaments like owls covered in the world's tiniest sea shells.
He didn't have weird ornaments everywhere but the place was littered with Play Mobil and Star Wars tat. Five light sabers just ready to trip me up and teeny tiny plastic bits on the carpet that flipping hurt your bare feet.
Then the baby, the Sweet Child, started climbing the stairs with a breadstick wedged in each clammy little fist, which was an accident just waiting to happen so I dashed back down to scoop her up, just as she dropped both breadsticks and the Prince ran out and demolished them both into micro crumbs.
Then I looked in the bathroom. If there hadn't been a bath and toilet in there, it would have been hard to guess what sort of room it was. The Princess had just dumped loads of clothes in there, and there were books and toys strewn everywhere. I could feel my stress levels rising just ever so slightly as I am a tidy freak, it's the Virgo in me.
I opened the cupboard on the landing and five towels and a duvet fell on my head. Then I set foot in the Princess's room but one look around made me step away immediately. It was carnage in there.
Downstairs wasn't much better. There was food all over the kitchen floor, plus hair, as I am still shedding loads post pregnancy. The highchair was covered in Weetabix which had congealed and hardened like concrete, the washing up was practically falling out of the bowl and there was still washing on the line.
In the living room, the Prince and Princess were fighting over who was playing Minecraft on the iPad and suddenly I felt overwhelmed.
It was safe to say I wasn't exactly on top of things as I had chosen to spend the day enjoying the last of the summer by the sea. This was my punishment for taking time out from chores.
And so I set about sorting it all out, with my small army of helpers. Who gave up after three minutes because "they were ever so tired after working all day at school and their feet hurt and they might have a headache."
By 11.30pm, the house was gleaming, all three children were bathed and snoring, and I collapsed in an exhausted heap on the sofa with an Ovaltine, reflecting on how different my Friday nights were before having kids.
We used to live in Bath city centre and would leave work, hit the cool bar just yards from our flat and drink gin and tonics til the bar closed and we moved on to a club.
But as I dragged myself up to bed and kissed each child on their marshmallow soft cheeks, I knew I wouldn't swap it for Friday nights in fancy bars.
This was my life now, it wouldn't be for ever, and socialising will happen again at a time I will be wishing my children were still young. Probably.
Look at the difference in a few months!!!!
AND I bet the husband will wake up with one hell of a hangover today, ha!
Mind you, I feel mightily hungover on three hours sleep and there wasn't a drop of alcohol consumed. Hate that.
