Once upon a time…

Once upon a time there was a mummy who couldn’t handle her drink. 
About 3 Saturday nights a year she got babysitters for all 5 sprogs & went out. It was a night where she got so excited so she downed alcohol like she was a teenager…cocktails & wine & beer, mixing it all up like she was some sort of pro. She envisaged staying out drinking & dancing until the early hours – the reality, because she’s such a lightweight prick is that she was always home by 10pm.
She then needed to sleep with the light on to stop the room spinning with a bucket next to the bed and she was so pissed she didn’t even remove her make up so the following day she had 65 new spots; even her false eyelashes removed themselves.
She then spent the three Sundays that year needing to be sick but not actually being sick; which I believe is a worse feeling than actually being sick. Writhing round the bed like she had flu whilst no fucker offered her any sympathy and if she heard the words ‘self inflicted’ again she would eat her own fist.
The following days were spent carrying shit-mum guilt for wasting a whole Sunday doing nothing when she could have been pruning the garden, making craft or baking shortbread with her babies, instead she was the worlds worst mum….that guilt lasted until about Thursday – when her hangover finally wore off, her kids were back to being on top form asshole mode again, her boyf was planning a selfish birding trip abroad in February….so she began planning for friends and family to have her kids overnight in a few more months so she could start getting excited about going out and doing it all over again.
The end. 💜
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