I use to dream of a red headed little girl, she was shy with blue/grey eyes, an infectious giggle and an ear bleeding cry. She had her daddy wrapped around her little finger, she could do no wrong in his eyes and he couldn’t say no to her. She was fiercely attached to her nanny, and would cry when leaving her house. She loved to sing and would make everyone join in sing out her favourite Disney songs. She loved reading and I would read to her every night. She had a little brother, who daddy was making football mad before he could even walk. He would forever be in a mini football kit with a ball nearby, laughing at daddy playing about with a soft ball, as I moaned about ball games in the house.
They would fall asleep together watching crappy kids T.V, she would hold her younger brothers’ hand has he toddled about feeding the ducks. She would scream at him to no touch her things and he would wind her up intentionally. She would scare him with made up stories of how the baby in mummy’s tummy would get out.
I would be embarrassed out shopping as they cried and argued with each other, I’d glow with pride and love as an old lady would tell me how charming my little ones were. I’d get a happy feeling every time someone would say does’t he look like daddy or she has your eyes.
I’d go to bed shattered and wake up shattered, I’d never go to the toilet alone. My little girl would ruin all my make playing ‘dress up like mummy’ and I’d smile and take a picture, even though she’d just wrecked a 10 quid lippy.
I use to dream of family trip to the sea side, dread airplane rides with three little monkeys. I made plans, took notes of every family fun place, I found near me, dreaming of when we’d get to go.
I dreamed of tantrums, begged for smart mouthed stubborn children. Promised anything I could for just one if I couldn’t have the three I dreamt of.
I dreamed a whole life, but reality is calling.