This Friday, I cease to be a Twenty-Something. I hit the Big 30
I’m not sure what is quite so significant about these so called “big birthdays” – after all, it’s just another turn around the sun. My 18th sort of passed me by – overtaken by the fear of my then boyfriend’s parents meeting my parents for the first time ever in a big family meal situation. My 21st I spent lying on my Mom’s sofa playing on my brand new Nintendo DS having had a bit of a tiff with Hubby (before he was even my boyfriend).
So 30. And what have I got planned? Well, frankly, not a lot. As it’s a Friday – years back a birthday falling on a Friday meant going out out and having a few too many drinks – now it means the usual chasing around after a moody two year old and wishing 6.30pm would hurry up already so Hubby would be home. I imagine Friday will go something like this:
4.30am – wake up, because the magpie outside has decided it’s dawn
5.30am – wake up again when Hubby gets up for work
6.47am – be rudely awoken by X shouting “Mooooooooooooommmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyy” at the top of his lungs, then spend 5 minutes explaining that the “sun isn’t awake yet, so my son shouldn’t be”, before giving in as the sun is *actually* about to wake up anyway.
7.15am – have arguement with small human over what he would like for breakfast. Make my own breakfast – suddenly that is all he wants in the whole world.
7.45am – convince tiny overlord to go upstairs to get dressed
8.45am – finally manage to get overlord dressed.
9.30am – depending on the weather, we will either begin our almost daily pilgrimage to “the shop”, via the ducks at the park, or dig out some jigsaw puzzles.
11.30am – wee overlord is now shattered, so it’s time for a nap. But not before he’s had 20 MILLION books read to him.
12.30pm – finally get a hot cup of tea. Promptly forget to drink it because I’m pratting around on Facebook.
1pm – the post arrives. I’ll potentially have a handful of birthday cards, but I’m old now and who does that anymore – people just say it on Facebook. And that’s fine! I’m all for saving trees…
1.45pm – Neighbours o’clock. Maybe with some cake.
2.30pm – darling son awakes, either in the best, most lovely mood of his life, or his alter-ego, Little Monster, has woken up instead.
4pm – Little Monster is in fine fettle – “Mummmmmmy, I want…. I don’t know… I neeeeeeeeeed… erm…. I don’t know Mummy…. Mummy?”
5pm – Hubby calls to say he’s on his way home from work. Woo!! I ask him to bring wine. And more cake.
6pm – Time to attempt to cook dinner. X likes to “help”, but finding something a clumsy two year old can help with when it comes to making a fish pie is tricky. I give him some pasta and some muffin tins to play with instead – I’ll be finding bits pasta for weeks to come.
6.30pm – Hubby arrives home, tired after his long commute. Dinner is probably nearly ready – I delight in him looking after X in the sitting room while I turn up my Disney musicals on the stereo and finish cooking/scrolling through Twitter.
7pm – we eat, much later than planned. Little Monster’s tummy is growling but he doesn’t like fish pie today, apparently. Bribe him with Bing on the TV, he eats half of it if we’re lucky. Debate giving him cake but I’ve decided I’d quite like him to be asleep before 10pm tonight, plus I want to eat it.
7.30pm – take somehow hyper child upstairs to get ready for bed. PJs on, milk drunk, teeth brushed, hands washed… I ask him which story he’d like Daddy to read to him instead of giving him the choice of which parent *evil laugh*
8.30pm – In years gone past, I’d be suitably tipsy now, probably in the first of many pubs, having a laugh. Now, I will be sitting in my pyjamas on the sofa, listening to X fidgeting in bed and wondering how long til I have to go up…
8.31pm – “muuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmyyyyyyy, my tummy’s growling”
8.35pm – attempts to explain that his tummy is just saying thank you for his bed time milk have failed. A reorganisation of his blankie is in order.
9pm – sat on sofa, with a glass of wine (with lemonade, I’m a lightweight these days), scrolling through the interwebs and not purposefully ignoring my husband who is probably watching cars going around in a circle or some superhero thing now that we’ve run out of Once Upon A Time on Netflix.
9.45pm – go to bed. Continue to scroll through Facebook instead of sleeping. Pre-motherhood we might just be talking about heading towards a club.
11pm – Hubby comes to bed, at which point I tell him I’ve bagsied the lie in tomorrow and go to sleep.
Party hard, hey?!