I am going to start this letter by saying I am sorry.
Whatever it was that I did, said, or didn’t do, then I apologise wholeheartedly.
It wasn’t on purpose, it was a mistake.
I realise our relationship has been rocky since the twins came along, I haven’t shown you the adoration you deserve, we used to read together, have Sunday mornings where all we did was wait for midday to arrive before climbing out of bed, and early nights when it got chilly.
I miss these times as well, but life is different after kids.
I got the sense that I lost part of you when dignity left during the older pairs’ birth. As soon as I cramped over in my slovenly, but oh so comfy, extra large maternity sweat pants, dignity started lingering by the door. When the screen went up, and babies started clambering our of my belly and I think possibly a bowel movement occurred, dignity bolted, never to return. I saw you look longingly after her.
But you stayed. I think you knew how much I would need you for what was to come.
And we had some good times, you and I.
When the babies were little, you held my hand as I milked myself, in order to feed the tiny little mouths which were depriving both of us of sleep. I recall, the day when the twins turned 18 months, and I found them hanging off a stair gate, one holding the other’s hair in their meaty little fingers, and the other sinking their small collection of teeth into the others arm. That day, you blew your top, turning from patience into anger before my eyes.
But we talked it through, we agreed I’d go back to work, and I did.
Then we resumed a semblance of normality. You were incredible in our new job, you found it much easier to be yourself when dealing with people who didn’t crap themselves hourly and could manage to speak in full sentences.
But I see now we have drifted again. We had a moment of reconciliation when the husband left, but it was shortlived.
The decision to go freelance, and therefore spend every non school moment with my now three children has taken its toll. I know you have tried; together with the kids we have attempted to be perfect parents, getting play doh and glitter out after school, reading religiously at bedtime when we would both prefer wine. Watching game after game of football when it has been so cold our nipples have become deadly weapons.
But it was all a bit fake, and after so long of trying to be perfect, patience, the crack showed.
When glitter appeared on the carpet we both snorted with grumpiness, we fell asleep sometimes during reading (when we mixed it with wine), and started to look for good excuses to nip to B&Q during the non league games.
I can’t do this without you.
Parenting three kids is not a job to do without patience of some sort. You are my rock when Owen loses his shoes 35 seconds before we leave for school. You are my saviour when Libby tells me homework is due….. Yesterday.
Sometimes you are just the voice that whispers, ‘keep going and pour a glass at seven, until then, just survive.’
Without that whisper, I don’t know if I can get through the week.
So please, please, come home. The house is bedlam without you.
If you have shacked up with dignity, try to persuade her to come back as well, it would be good to turn up on the school run not in my gym leggings once in a while. But unless dignity comes back, I’m not sure that will actually happen. If you both come home, we can celebrate with a posh meal from M&S and a large glass of pink.
As said, I’m sorry and I need you, without you, Owen will be banned from his phone for life.
Lots of love,
P.S. If you also bump into my absent libido on your travels tell them to stay away, is no place in this house for her anymore.