This Christmas…

Christmas is hands down my favourite time of the year.  From The food to fighting with my siblings over food. Fighting with my siblings over clearing the kitchen. Sitting in the kitchen with my siblings grumbling about guests leaving on time so we can open our Christmas presents before Boxing day. Opening presents on Boxing day morning because just as the last guests were leaving at 10pm, some lady showed up with her fiancé to greet the parents. Getting the best presents. My parents pretending to run a fair hamper sharing system when we all know it is rigged in favour of my sister and then fighting with my remaining siblings over the left over contents of the Harrods hampers.

This year, I wasn’t sure we would make it. Between Red lists and Omicron, Christmas was cancelled, reinstated and then rescheduled. 3 Covid tests, 2 missed flights, 1 red list removed and we made it for Christmas.

It didn’t take long for me to realise that Eddie’s agenda for this holiday was Revenge served hot. Holidaying with family has its issues but Eddie has made sure we won’t be doing this again. I never really noticed that none of the bedroom doors have no locks because normally when you shut the door, people knock and wait for you to open the door. Not with Eddie. It is as if he has a sensor that lets him know when I shut the door because within 2 seconds of shutting the door, he’s run in, swings the door open and runs away. This is made all the more problematic by the fact that the bed faces a mirrored wall that is floor to ceiling. Again this was considered a decorative success till my mother in law needed to chat with me but I couldn’t get out of bed because she was by the door, which Eddie had left open and all I was wearing was Chanel no 5!

For a child, who greets me every morning with silence and whose favourite phrase is “Bye Mummy”, I should be suspicious every time he runs up to me smiling and begins to press the folds of my tummy like he’s kneading dough, but I’m a sucker for affection so I get excited. After singing “Mummy, mummy,” his next line is “Eddie poo poo.” Never his dad, always me. As I change him, we giggle and laugh. It’s as if we make a connection. As I finish changing him and attempt to continue our banter, I hear “No mummy, go.” I appreciate he feels a type of way about me stopping breastfeeding but this attack on my person is extreme.

You imagine that it can’t get worse but Eddie is a focused and diligent person. His score this holiday was 5 for 5. The bed we slept in is clearly designed for you to not to be able to go to bed angry or it was fat shaming me. Needless to say, after successfully getting the boys to sleep, I would lie in wait to pounce on my prey.

Now we would’ve engaged in preliminary talks, negotiated terms and gone back and forth, but just as we are literally about to seal the deal, swish, bash, the door flies open, human beings violently disconnect and Eddie is standing by the bed with one fake cry that gets on my nerves! Nte the sucker upon locating his pyjamas, with a look of ‘don’t sleep, I’ll be back’, walks the child back to his room and promptly falls asleep while trying to put the child back to sleep.

I’m not bitter, it’s a new year and school begins on Monday. There’s no need to drag with a 2 year old, once I drop them off in the morning, no man should talk to me about he has Monday morning meeting. Zoom, off camera and mute were designed for a reason, that is all I’m saying.

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