Today has been a “low mood” sort of day. A psychologist came up with the phrase for me earlier this year. I don’t tick the boxes for “depression”, so “low mood” covers the bleak cloud that sweeps over me at regularish intervals. Husband was quite cross about the “low-mood” diagnosis. He’d been hoping for a proper depression that could be fixed with drugs or something. No such luck. I don’t mind the hormonal, once-a-month “low mood” episodes – characterised by wailing “you don’t love me” at Husband repeatedly – because there’s an easy explanation, hormones. Today’s misery is trickier, as there’s no good reason for it. After dropping Husband at work, the kids and I headed home to bake vanilla cupcakes and make homemade muesli bars. What I really want is to hide under the doona and have a quiet sob, but it’s not really a viable option with the Sprogs about. I idly contemplate a glass of wine, but that seemed way too pathetic, so I hang in until a pre-organised playdate in the park at 2pm. I arrive, chuck the kids at one of other mums and make a beeline to the shops for a bottle of Diet Coke. By the time I return to the park swigging the last dregs I feel much improved and even manage a bit of playful hijinks with the Sprogs before retreating to the huddle of mums touting champagne. Lovely! The unfortunate downside to the playdate was that Sprog 2 arrived home and insisted that she’d relapsed. I snapped that I didn’t want tears at the dinner table and sent her to bed. I immediately felt guilty and didn’t enjoy dinner much after that. After choking down my leftover curry, I went in to comfort Sprog 2, cleaned her teeth in bed, and she was out like a light by 6.30pm. God knows what time she’ll be up in the morning. And if she wakes up sick, I am NOT staying home watching Bananas In Pyjamas again. Husband can have a “personal leave” day.
TONIGHT’S MENU: Roasted tomato soup & warm cob of bread (Sprog 1, gobbled up as it’s her favourite), mashed potato and veg (Sprog 2, uneaten due to illness and unsympathetic Mummy).