Motherhood…a time of bliss, a time of comfort.
Beautiful, well behaved children who sleep through the night, tidy up their toys and act in a socially appropriate manner.
Husbands who help with the dishes, put a load of washing on now and again and will entertain the kids so mummy can enjoy the odd social occasion.
Not too much to expect, right?
After all, that’s what all the magazines portray, right?
I remember it clearly.
It was a cold, winters morning, pitch black, jaggy looking, icicles precariously clinging to the windows.
It was one bad dream I didn’t want to open my eyes after.
I knew the minute my feet touched the ground I’d have to fake it. Put on a brave face and make it through the day. Not for my sake, but for the kids. One who bore witness to the whole sorry state of affairs and one who, in her innocence, blamed me entirely for asking her dad to leave…