This is Mum.
Mum is fucking exhausted.
Mum is fucking exhausted because she last had an unbroken night’s sleep more than seven years ago.
Mum did not realise that, when she signed up to have a baby, not only was she bidding a fond farewell to having pert breasts which didn’t look like empty socks and hang down to your navel, and being able to break into anything more energetic than a walk without pissing yourself, she could also wave goodbye to sleeping for more than twenty minutes in a row, not to mention lying in until any time past 5.04am.
Mum went to bed at 11pm. This was a good two hours after Mum should have gone to bed in order not to rise looking like an extra from Dawn of the Dead, but Mum couldn’t resist an extra hour on the sofa drinking gin after the children had gone to bed without anyone yelling at her to wipe their arse or fetch them their three thousandth snack of the day.
Dad also went to bed at 11pm, breathing fumes of Newcastle Brown Ale and brandishing his erect penis in Mum’s general direction in the hope Mum’s Friday night gin will have meant she is receptive to his advances.
Mum and Dad go to sleep.
At 1am, Kipper comes into the bedroom, to tell Mum and Dad that his leg is looking at him, “and I do not like it”.
At 2am, Chip turns on all of the upstairs lights in order to take a massive shit in the bathroom, which he does while singing Show Me The Way To Amarillo at a volume so loud that he can probably be heard in sodding Amarillo.
At 3am, Biff comes into the bedroom to ask Mum and Dad what will happen to all of the people who make plastic straws, now that they are not allowed to make them any more, and will they still have jobs, and how will they be able to afford to feed their families.
At 4am, Kipper comes into the bedroom to tell Mum and Dad that his other leg is looking at him, “and I do not like it”.
At 4.30am, with Kipper and his legs now in Mum and Dad’s bed, everyone finally falls fast asleep.
At 4.36am, Floppy the dog, who has been dreaming that he is the Andrex puppy, gallumphs through the house barking and shredding toilet paper everywhere.
At 4.37am, everyone in the house loses their shit and tells Floppy that he is a fucking liability.
At 4.38am, Mum decides to give up on sleeping as a bad job.
At 6am, Mum is on the phone to the local Travelodge, booking herself a £29 single room for that night. The room will be sparse and the bed will be uncomfortably hard, and it will end up being the most blissful night’s sleep Mum has had since the day she brought Biff and Chip home from the maternity ward.