A mother's guilt

As I prepare to take my first non-work related, non-wedding related trip away from Millie, I am filled with a deep sense of guilt.

I had to go on the other jaunts so they were somewhat immune from my guilty conscience. However, the only reason I have for sodding off to Paris with the girls for two nights is sheer indulgence. As a mother, I didn't think that was allowed anymore? To make matters worse, it is almost as if Millie has cottoned on to this fact.

These days my daughter goes straight off to sleep as soon as I put her down for a nap, or for the night  (believe me it wasn't always thus). When I leave for work, she waves me off with a cheery 'bye bye!' and a cursory wave of the hand. However, with the whiff of my impending departure hanging in the air, the rule book has been thrown unceremoniously out of the window.

Mim is grumbly, Mim is refusing to sleep anywhere but on me, Mim is generally being clingy.  I would assume she was sickening for something, except she's literally just had a cold. I know, I've now got it. That's where we come on to my next sod's law moment. It would appear that my health and wellbeing is in cahoots with my daughter as far as making sure this trip is one tinged with distress.

I am now suffering a full blown cold, shivers, nose about to explode, hacking cough... you get the picture. So as I frantically down lemsips, try to put a clingy Mim down to sleep, start my packing, batch cook, leave out ironed clothes and find time to get some freaking France money I find myself thinking 'HELL'S TEETH I NEED A HOLIDAY!' Oh wait...

NB. Dear Family and friends,
If I haven't returned by Sunday lunchtime ask the Gendarmerie to search for a frazzled looking women in her mid-thirties, collapsed somewhere off the Pont Neuf in a macaroon-induced diabetic coma.