The Death Talk.

‘Mummy?’

I am barely awake.

In fact, hang on, Im not even awake.

This has to be a dream.

‘Mummy?’

No.

Oh hell no.

I am not a mummy.

I am a goddess.

I am only 24.

I was out all night ‘owning the night.’

‘Mummy.’

I don’t have a kid.

No this isn’t happening.

I am not being poked in the head with a bum smelling mini finger.

‘Mummy Wake up.’

This isn’t real.

Sweaty bodies stuffed up against huge speakers, the bass pounding our legs in to movement, part of a mass crowd moving as one, blonde hair, blue eyes, head thrown back letting go, hands in the air cos I didn’t care, taut tight stomach muscles, bare thighs, standing in the toilet queue gurning, chatting incessantly, spraying my hair, loving the blackness of my eyes, friends swapping hidden envelopes, cab rides to the chill out, the frosty morning air, the gentle smoke from my cigarette rising in the morning air as we stumbled for the front door, the love, the belonging, our house, our rules, what a blinding night…

‘Mummy?’

Oh jesus.

I do have a kid.

It’s Addison.

…. Which probably means I wasn’t out all night at all, but more likely danced in the kitchen on my own, with my headphones on and a bottle glass of wine, until before 10pm.

And… then I probably passed out on the sofa.

My stomach is not taut, it is pouchy and destroyed.

‘Mummy?’

My head is pounding.

I was not up all night spinning and feeling stunning, sending the boys crazy,  I was in fact, dribbling on a SpongeBob SquarePants cushion and stinking the place out with my Wine sweat and mother trumps.

I am a lightweight.

EST:2010.

‘Hey baby.’ I force a smile at my son and nearly gag on my own breath.

Today is going to be a long day.

But maybe the god’s of ‘I’m never drinking again on a school night ever’ will be shining down on me.

Maybe he will play nice and quietly while I watch from a comatose corner.

Oh god, I think I need to vomit up a lung.

‘Mummy, when Uncle Jakey died, did we flush him down the toilet?’

There.

Are.

No.

Words.

But I need to find some.

‘No baby.’ I struggle from behind my (what should have been a mild- I had 1 glass!!!) hangover ‘We didn’t flush your uncle down the toilet.’

‘Why not?’

I rub at my eyes.

It is too early for the Death talk, and besides, I will have all of this at therapy later.

Once a day is enough.

‘Because we didn’t.’

The Irish one arrives back in the bedroom fully dressed smelling fresh and looking, I have to say, a little smug, to be leaving for work.

He leans in to kiss me goodbye, almost gagging but managing to hide it quite well, kisses addy on the head and then thunders back down the stairs berating me on my night time endeavours, before the room stops swinging.

I swear I only had 1 glass!

‘But Mummy, we flush the fish down the toilet, why not Uncle Jakey?’  Addison whines.

‘Because he would have got stuck in the U-Bend!!!’  the Irish One helpfully shouts from downstairs, before slamming the door behind him and leaving on his merry travels ‘Have a great day you two!’

I sigh and reach out for my glasses, which of course are not there.

‘Mummy?’

Yes Addison.

‘What’s a U bend?’

I am going to kill the Irish One.

No more dancing in the kitchen.

… And where the HELL are my glasses?

But hey!

At least that’s that subject covered!

*Sigh.

2 responses to “The Death Talk.

  1. Only kids can ask such a question early in the morning. And your husband’s reply cracked me up. :P

  2. Ah this made me LOL, bless him, I feel slightly embarassed that without the child old enough to walk or talk this could be me…children are so inconsiderate of wine effects!

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