If you’ve followed my posts from the get go, my day ones, my first loves…
You will know that I regularly took the piss out of “Routine Andrea”.
She was the one who had her baby’s schedule done… Like DONE.
Like, that baby better have finished its bottle in 15 minutes and 20 seconds or shit was hitting the fan. Nap time was on cue, and you better believe she showered at 10am on the dot, daily.
Now, I have a confession to make. She was right… she was right all along, and I was too naive to see it.
Like, let me tell you… if you invite me out past half five… I’m not coming! I repeat, I’M NOT COMING! Because if my kid isn’t fed, bathed, teeth brushed and bed BY 7PM ~ HELL IS ABOUT TO LET LOOSE!
I never realised how important it was; I mean, I had a routine but never really knew, just did it daily not giving a hoot: that is until my darling other half had Oscar while I was at work.
HE LET THAT KID NAP 3-6PM! (fucking imbecile!) I mean … I’m not even fucking kidding… 6pm!! …He’d been recharged like a geordie shore vibrator – AND OH HOW I WISH I WAS KIDDING.
My life flashed before me when my kid was running around with the remote, banging it on the kitchen bin, pasta in his hair and a Diddy in his mouth… and that’s when I realised- HOLY SHIT, I am Routine Andrea.
As a rule, I don’t leave the house until Oscar’s done his morning shit (it makes sense not to; nobody wants to deal with that outside the bomb squad unit). He naps at 11 or 2 …nothing in between.
And He goes to bed at 7. (Got that, Gingy?!)
And here I am, sitting outside his bedroom whilst he kicks off at 7.30pm for the second day in a row since the routine was broken.
Dear routine god… Send help. Send helppppp!!!!
Edited by Rebecca Wright.
Dedicated to Andrea pope.