Rose Tinted Shite

A quick one, as I’m racing out the door, and not a child in the house washed (or in bed.  They are, in fact, tormenting the poor cats with pieces of string to which they’ve attached lumps of salmon.  They call it “catting” – “It’s like fishing, but we’re trying to catch cats.”  Obviously.)

I opened some old file on my laptop today and discovered a heap of photos from my (very) old mobile phone (2 pixels, I thought it was AMAZING. In fact it was amazing at the time. It even had predictive text!)  Twenty minutes later I realised TO MY HORROR I had become One Of Those People I Always Sneer At. (The ones who say things like “cherish this special time”  and all you can think to say in response is Oh Fuck Off, Here, Take Them, but instead you nod and mutter something vaguely positive, or at least as positive as you can muster given that you’re contemplating sticking a fork in their eye)   Anyway.  I wasn’t quite that bad, but I did look back at what was, frankly, an EXHAUSTING time, with a newborn and a  1 year old, or a 1 year old and a 2 year old, etc etc, and think:  Aw.  Look.  They were SO SWEET. If only...

Thank God, then, for posts such as this, to remind me that they were NOT sweet, and there’s no If Only about it.