Home Alone

A beautiful sunny evening at the beginning of an bank holiday weekend and I am sitting in alone in my lounge whilst my husband gallavants on a roof terrace of a pub in London. Jealous?  Much?  Actually, no.  I'm revelling in the company of a bottle of pink Lanson and a Corrie/Stenders sarnie.

Stu is due back at lunchtime tomorrow.  He is therefore able to have a pretty large night out and is staying in the darkest depths of South-East London with his bezzie.  I'm happier with him staying away so that I can lock the door and not worry about being woken up by a snoring/farting/stumbling intruder in the early hours.

I used to be a lot less chilled about Stu's nights out.  It's funny, but when I was thinner and younger with no baby scars and I serviced my man on a near-daily basis, I was a lot more paranoid about what he was going to get up to when I wasn't with him.  Maybe our seven-year marriage has produced less of an itch and more of a security blanket?  There is the school of thought that says why would you have a burger out when you can have a steak at home...  I'm sure that the way men are made they would take both if they thought they could get away with it!  I reckon Stuart would be more excited about the idea of an ACTUAL burger followed by an ACTUAL steak on the side than the analogy however.  I think at 36 I've just realised that worrying about these things unnecessarily won't actually change the likelihood of them happening!

Even the thought of a solo Saturday morning doesn't fill me with dread anymore.  Zak will creep downstairs, (he knows how to keep on the best side of his mother), and amuse himself on the IPad, and Seb stays in bed till you go and get him, so my day shouldn't get going until 8 or 9.  The days of 5.30am on a Saturday morning staring through tear-filled bleary eyes at the playroom wall with a baby and a toddler are luckily a far-distant memory.  I'm sorry if I sound irritatingly smug.  Actually, I'm not sorry; I did my time.

There is also the beautiful concept of a Super-King size bed for one.  It's funny how I sleep quite happily and neatly on my side of the bed the majority of the time but the moment I'm given the whole caboodle I spread and cover the entire thing like an enormous snoring starfish.  Happy days.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder in my marriage.  I will welcome my (slightly stinking) hubby back with open arms tomorrow and revel in his witty and scintillating tales of his misdemeanours for a good half an hour, before I vanish off to the beauticians for the rest of the afternoon, leaving him with his hangover and his boys. Well, I'm sure he will have missed them.