I went on a hen do this weekend. It was bloody fantastic, 24 hours of drinking, dancing and eating with some of the funniest individuals I know. I wore my hair pretty, my make up game was strong and my shoes were not sensible. I even used a handbag, a real life handbag! Granted there were wet wipes in it BUT they were for the recovery of a very silly game that involved lipsticks and blindfolds. On the second day I drunk prosecco (bottle, not glass) with breakfast and did a shot on the train. It was one of the best weekends of my life. To top it all off, I wasn’t even hungover…I’ll stop now, I’m just bragging!
Did I miss TH? NOT ONE LITTLE BIT. There you go, I said it. I chatted about him a bit, proudly showed off the pictures Mr Gobshite sent me and called early evening to check on him. I am not for one second saying I didn’t care about how he was or that resuming care of him, once I wasn’t 90% alcohol, was to be dreaded, I’m just saying I didn’t miss him. Why would I? I knew perfectly well I’d see him the next day and, more to the point, I was way too busy having fun. I’d not forked out for a new dress, wore silver heels and spent more than my monthly council tax bill on vodka/coke to waste it pining after someone who spends most waking hours puking or pooing in my presence. When I was reunited with him, late Sunday afternoon, seeing his little face was chuffing unbeatable, nobody has ever looked that excited to see me in my whole life. If anything it makes me more excited to be away from him again, to get that smile again!
I’m also fully aware that if I was any sort of decent mum I would have been updating my Facebook status, telling everyone what a great time I’d had but how much I’d missed my precious TH and couldn’t wait for snuggles. I posted pictures of me drinking with my fry up and called the stags losers.
So why am I divulging all this? To make me look like a heartless bitch? No. To show off about what an ace time I had? A little. To raise the issue of guilt? Mostly. I don’t feel guilty for leaving my child for one night and I don’t feel guilty for not missing him. Since Mr Gobshite and I aim to care for him, in our home, for at least the next 18 years, I’m pretty certain I’m going to see a lot of him. Yet time and time again I hear other parents, particularly mothers, say they feel guilty or bad for leaving their children to go have fun. I’m honestly not sure whether they mean it or feel like they have to say it (FYI: I know some people genuinely don’t want to, and therefore never spend time away from their children, which is cool but not something I can identify with at all.) Either way I honestly struggle to believe grown men and women are sobbing into smartphone photo albums of their own TH’s “missing” them, whilst having a child free night. Bullshit, it’s the last glass of red talking. I’m pretty sure while you were eating a beautiful meal, taking in a ballet, dancing too late at a loud gig, sitting on the sofa without a shit load of coloured plastic etc etc…YOU WERE NOT MISSING YOUR KID and you certainly didn’t feel guilty about it.
I recently attended a health and well being evening for mothers. It was largely guffy shit and a bit patronising. However it was a child free event and an excuse to put on some slap. I did totally agree with a small part of the philosophy discussed though, in that a parent still needs to make time for joy away from their child. For some it is enough to snatch 10 minutes in the toilet, others an hour in the gym, a night away, half an hour in bed with a book. Everyone is different in how much is enough for them but none should feel guilty about it. You are still an individual, you are not your child, you do not have the same needs or desires and you do not need to feel (or pretend to feel) gulity about this.
On a much shorter note, I often hear people talk about how they feel guilty working. Now I’ve not yet returned to work, so don’t want to yak on about this and then have metaphorical egg on my face if I get it wrong. I prefer to speak from personal experience, rather than presume. However I don’t get this either. My work provides the roof over our head, allowed me the finanical opportunity to take 8 months off, provides money with which to buy TH more shit than he needs and pays well enough to allow Mr Gobshite to leave his own job to care for TH. Why on Earth would I feel guilty about working? I’m aware the profession in which I work is demanding of extra curricular (clue to role right there) time but I’ve done a lot more donkey work for less pay and holiday. However I feel like I should cover this once I’ve returned and who knows, maybe I’ll eat my metaphorical hat?
I love the time I spend with my son immensely but I also have no issue admitting I enjoy the time without him too, guilt free. Usually for me it’s an hour at the gym a few times a week and once a month when Grandma Gobshite takes him for the night. Maybe I’m alone in feeling this way but I hope not. I just wish parents would feel more comfortable in expressing what they really think, feel and enjoy. What’s the worst thing that could happen? You’ll connect with like minded rearers of small movers? You could inspire others to be more open? If you’ve read through and don’t agree with me at all, fair enough, it might help to know I do lots of things I feel guilty about every day, both related to TH (jumparoo neglect) and not, I’m just not sorry that enjoying myself without him isn’t one of them.
Thanks as always for reading and I hope as always I’ve entertained in some way. Obviously need to answer my own title question: no, no we fucking don’t, there’s plenty of other stuff to get bogged down in though, so don’t feel bad about it!
Gobshite and Tiny 