Any woman who has been blessed with being up the duff can attest to the fact there will be times when you may inadvertently act as though you have been possessed by demons. Largely because said demons have just made you cry uncontrollably in a public place. You try to tell your husband it is the pregnancy hormones at play, but secretly he no doubt thinks you need your head read.
That pretty much sums up my Sunday, a day in which all I had set out to achieve was to spend a long overdue, lovely day out with my little family.
With the husband just back from his boy’s trip and prior to that, working 7 days a week work slog for 7 months straight, it had equated to not many opportunities to enjoy a whole day doing something special as a family. So I was determined to make sure we made the most of this rare unscheduled free day.
But you know what they say about best laid plans… Murphy’s Law would mean everything I’d arranged would eventually go to piss (literally – but I will get to that).
After the first proposal of fishing went awry when the husband came out second best against the kids reel he wrestled with for an hour to set up, I brightly suggested we check out a cool sounding kids park instead. Cautiously I warned it was about a 40 minute drive away but the husband agreed to it so we plugged the destination into the GPS and set off.
Sadly the supposedly infallible and all knowing GPS decided to take us either the wrong – or at least LONG – way around adding an unwanted 15 minute detour on to our already long trip.
By now the first threads of nervousness were curling around my stomach, sensing unspoken frustration simmering in the car. Conscious that we still had some time to travel to our intended destination I offered an alternative suggestion. The local “Kids Day Out” was on and from my estimations we were only about 5 minutes away from it. And we might have been had we not been stuck then in crawling traffic and had to park 10 minutes away from the gate.
Now, normally the Husband is one of the world’s most endlessly patient men. But he has an Achilles heel and they are large crowds and waiting in long queues. Both make him anxious as well as angry. And here was I, now inadvertently leading him into the belly of his beast.
So the fact the event was not just a local country fair like we’d blithely assumed, and literally swarming with people, the sun was beating down, the husband was dressed for playing at the beach did not bode well. Of this I was acutely conscious. So I plastered a permanent happy smile across my face and went about painfully ensuring everyone was having fun for the next few hours.
It was when the husband left in search of something to quench his thirst, after failing to find anything at the ice cream stall that he’d been to for me, that things really began to unravel. Master H announced with an unmistakeable urgency that he needed to do a wee and the nearest toilets were a good five minute walk away. Dodging and weaving the crowd, trying to leave a phone message for the Husband at the same time as I was worried he’d return and wonder where we’d disappeared to, I was greeted with the usual long line outside the ladies toilets.
In hindsight I should have spoken up. But I suppose I was hoping someone might hear me saying “hold on mate, just hold on to it,” and let us through. But no, my politeness would cost me. Right when we were finally at the front of the queue he let loose with the longest wee I’ve ever known him to do.
Cue mutters and disgust from some the complete strangers behind as I frantically tried to mop up the river of pee that was pooling around us. I had to abandon my melting icy pole and strip my son off and try to clean him up as well, while tears threatened to spill over.
And after we’d slunk away I recalled I’d left a showbag behind so had to make a mad dash back through the crowd, screaming at my half naked child to keep up.
By the time we finally came back to the Husband, me clutching a soggy set of boys shorts, I promptly burst into tears and demanded to go home. I was just so drained from putting my every energy into wanting us to have one, long overdue special day out and I was worn down.
I’m quite sure my husband thought I’d been struck down with sun stroke, or was just plain cukoo-crazy, as he frantically trailed after his red faced wife. Turns out pregnancy hormones and best laid plans are simply not compatible and an expectant mother just has to give into her emotions, irrational as they might appear to be!
But, all’s well that ends well. The rational element of my brain knows it really was far from a disastrous day and it enabled me to open up to my husband about my fears that as a family we are guilty of taking each other for granted.
And if all else fails, the husband has learned one thing, as he came brandishing a chocolate cornetto to me as we made our way home: ice cream fixes everything.