My boiler has broken. No big deal. When I was in my twenties this would have just meant me shoving some leggings on under my pyjamas (how cosy does that sound?), ringing up my Dad and waiting for him to sort it out. As it happens? My boiler has broken, tomorrow is my daughters 5th birthday, we have a bike to make up tonight and to top it all off? We are also getting new carpets fitted throughout in the morning AND new kitchen tops. I've been living with kitchen surfaces and a sink in my playroom for a fortnight and I just know we're not going to have the right tool for the bike.
I'm overwhelmed. When you are one you just have to sort yourself out. You can put up with cold, or being poorly, or the odd crap birthday. It doesn't matter if your kitchen is a sh*thole as you can always go and eat out. When you are two? It stays the same. Bar the odd 'blaming each other' for the sorry state you are in. Which actually can be quite fun. Then you become three. And you love this tiny human being so much it's not good enough if they are cold. You don't want them to have a bit of a crap birthday. You want everything to be perfect.
You want them to look back at pictures of their birthdays and have them remember the amazing day they had. And remember their house as a happy and fun filled place with no broken boilers and grubby carpets. But it can be hard as a parent to not find this pressure suffocating. Then add onto this outside pressures at work or with family and friends. It can seem so much. Too much. I live in fear of producing a moment that will right royally f*ck up my children forever.
I'm hard on myself. I worry. Which in reality is probably not the best thing to do. Whilst I sit here typing this wishing I had fingerless gloves on like from the 1980's I can hear my two kiddos running around screaming upstairs. They have clothes on under the pyjamas and extra blankets on their beds. To them this seems foreign and exciting. In fact? I should take back all the Christmas presents I've got them and just ruddy do this each night. They are beside themselves.
They don't notice the grubby carpet, they just see it as another thing to smash playdoh into. The kitchen sink in the playroom was just another thing to climb over and I am quite certain just seeing a box with a huge picture of a bike on the side will be enough to make my girl happy. The only person that is overwhelming me. Is me. So I'm going to sit down, catch up with Made in Chelsea and pop some leggings under my pyjama bottoms.