Novelty value

This is so difficult. So hard. I feel full of resentment which is doing me no good at all. I feel like screaming, as loud as physically possible. Life was tough anyway, but it’s got a lot tougher.

I’m tired. I’m always tired. I was tired anyway, but now I’m exhausted.

He comes to see the children every other night. I hate it. Everything about it is rubbish. I hate that he walks in and gets the best bits. Tea if he wants it, happy children, bath time, bedtime stories, cuddles. He gets a few hours of quality time. And I hate it.

I’m a terrible person for feeling this way, I should take a good look at my children’s faces when they see him and I should feel grateful. I should feel lucky. They still have a dad. A dad that wants to be with them. I can’t bring myself to look at their happy faces properly though and I feel nothing but a bitter resentment.

I have the mornings of school refusals. The grumpiness, the naughtiness, the stubbornness, the arguments. The tears to wipe, so many tears. I get the tantrums, the grim nappies, the refusal to eat meals I’ve cooked, the constant battles over junk food. I get the homework arguments, the spellings and times tables battles. I have the daily grind of keeping three completely different individuals happy, fed and clean. I get the house to tidy, the chaos and destruction of everyday life to sort, the packed lunches to make, the cooking to do and the endless washing piles to sort.

I am tired. I would like to have the novelty value that daddy has. And I would like some sleep.


I am tired and none of this feels very fair right now. It is rubbish. Every other night is rubbish.

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