You regularly clocked 8 full hours of uninterrupted sleep
Yes, you heard me correctly.
No blasted 1am wee-wees rearing their ugly head, when your pelvic floors are tested to the max. But after 45 minutes you have to admit defeat, that wee-wee is not going away, so it’s wearily off to the loo you pad.
No 3.40am head spin panics about really, really important problems such as how you may have dropped a giant chocolate button on the pavement outside your house after dinner, as you’d tried to shovel as many of those beautiful brown discs into your gob as possible without anyone seeing. You’d just had a huge curry and everyone else was saying how they couldn’t eat another thing for a week, so you had to pretend to take the bins out so you could do some secret eating, alone, in the dark.
OMG you are a secret eater.
But the next door neighbour’s cute little sausage dog might find the chocolate button, wolf it, and die because don’t dogs die when they eat chocolate? You’ll have to go outside now and check if the chocolate button is still there. In fact you have to text your neighbour right THIS MINUTE. Oh no, you can’t, it’s now 4am and the rest of the world is OK because they’re all asleep, unlike poor little you.
And just imagine not wanting to smother your partner every night when the snoring kicks in, and the fecker is blissfully clocking a gorgeous full 8 hours.
8 hours only ever happens once every 5 years let’s face it, but just think what you could achieve if it was a regular thing. You might even be nice to live with.
Domestic sloppiness didn’t infuriate you
You simply didn’t let it tip you over the edge anymore that NOBODY else ever puts anything in the dishwater. Unless you hold them in a headlock until they do, and then you find everything in stupid places, and you realise you may as well have done it yourself because you have to rearrange the whole thing anyway.
Or you see thousands of brand new felt tip pens strewn on the floor with their tops off, but you just skip away giggling at the fact that they will all dry out in a matter of minutes.
Or you ask your partner to hang the washing up (headlock probably required again) and he (or she, but probably he) has managed to find room on the clothes horse for every single item by layering everything on top of one another. T-shirts on top of towels. Pants on top of jeans. Nothing is dry 4 days later. But it’s OK that you’ve now got a backlog of 3 days of washing and lots of foosty damp clothes. C’est la vie.
You find empty boxes of cereal or an empty jar of coffee put back in the cupboard. No problem that you had no idea that there were no cocoa pops left because THERE WAS AN EMPTY BOX PUT BACK IN THE CUPBOARD. It’s cool.
You’d live in a permanent haze of dreamy relaxation as you wandered around your home, despite the fact that you sense you might find Withnail and I living there too.
Your date cancels before you have to
You’ve arranged a Tuesday night out with a friend because when you booked it months ago, thinking about it was fine.
But it’s a Tuesday night FFS, what were you thinking? And your pjs and fluffy slippers are calling you, as well as three episodes of Cold Feet on Sky Plus.
You’re about to send a guilt text saying ‘really soz to cancel but got killing sore throat and feeling well rough.😷 Think bed is best place for me.😴 Really gutted not to see you. 😥 😘 😘 😘’ (the guilt requires three of the kissy ones).
Then just as you’re about to press send, your phone goes ping, and they’ve got in there first. The utter euphoria.
You didn’t get middle aged spots
You didn’t have to feel that horror every time a crater erupts on your chin. It may be only 3-4 times a year these days but when it happens, it happens big, and you have to go through that 24 hour angst when you know you shouldn’t touch it. I mean you’ve been walking the walk for 25 years now, you know the drill. But you just can’t help yourself. Every. Single. Time. You attack and inevitably what was huge, becomes gigantuan. Even your kids stare at it when you’re shouting at them.
Your kids didn’t moan
Yes you heard me, they just didn’t moan about anything, ever.
Not about not being allowed on a screen 24 hours a day. Not every single time you attempt to feed them something that doesn’t resemble a pizza or chicken nugget. Not about actually having to tidy up the mess they have created by getting every single toy out of the cupboard. Not even about being the only child in the entire universe who hasn’t got their own iPhone.
Not a peep.
Only gratitude and praise for the wonderful job you do every day looking after them.
Let me just take a moment to enjoy that one. That would make life so very sweet.
What would make your life sweet, my lovely fellow S.H.I.T.s?