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Where’s the Escape Key?

  
This was a question I found myself asking recently, whilst hiding out in the en-suite. I took to Facebook for a short rant. Apparently it’s socially unacceptable to fully vent your fury and frustration at a two year old who is, quite simply, one screamed refusal to get dressed away from tipping you right. over. the. edge.

Don’t worry – my hiding place only went undiscovered for around 42 seconds at which point the whirling dervish continued her 100 decibel tantrum about not wearing any of the 52 dresses she had pulled out of her wardrobe. Even the 5 year old looked worried for my sanity and was desperately trying to talk her sister round. In any other situation that would have been cute!

Depositing the Diva with the childminder, I whispered “Good Luck” under my breath and hot-footed it back to the car to deposit the positively angelic 5 year old at school. At the door she proudly told her teacher she had three stars on her reward chart before I shoved her through the door and legged it to work!

Back in the car I took a deep breath and, as I did, the penny dropped with a resounding clatter…. This is going to be ‘it’ for around the next ten years…… OK, so the fights will change, in fact I’ve been ‘reassured’ they’ll get worse (side note, how the f$*k does anyone think that is remotely helpful or comforting?) and that my current living hell is nothing more than a gentle introduction to the nightmares ahead! But essentially, there is nothing else…

So having realised that actually, this IS it and there is no escape key… I started to feel really unsettled. Here I am at the grand age of *around 10 years older than I want to be* and the unending demand to be at the beck and call of other people is feeling more than a little stifling this week. I can’t really recall the last time I had some free time (i.e. more than an hour – I know I’m greedy but a hastily bashed out gym session doesn’t count) to just ‘be me’. Not Mummy, Wife or work colleague.. Laundry maid, cook, cleaner, chamber maid, accountant, social secretary, general spinner of plates… Just me. Scarily, I’m not even sure that I know who ‘I’ am anymore.

If there’s anyone out there who fancies whisking me away from it all for a day or two, please step forward now!

UPDATE: Since writing I have happily been advised that the dervish has turned cannibal and taken a chuck out of another child…. Oh Happy Days!

  

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