I couldn't control myself. My son got it with both barrels.
I realised with a shock it was gone 4.30 and his dad hadn't arrived to take him swimming. Assuming his dad had forgotten, it was up to me to take him.
"I don't want to go swimming, I hate swimming," said my son. I wasn't in the mood for it.
"Where's your dad? He could have had the courtesy to send a text message."
I was fuming. I wanted to use the quiet time, in the 'tidy' living room (my son wolf whistled when he got home!) to sit and think about tomorrow's meeting.
Instead, in what has been a freezing cold day, with snowflakes whizzing in opposite directions in the grey sky, I had to put my son on the back seat and hope, as I always hope, that we wouldn't topple off the bike on the way to the pool.
Yoda sent message upon message as we neared Swiss Cottage, then the A-Team started talking.
"That'll be your dad. A bit late now I'm here."
"Can you watch me together?" asked my son.
"I don't know. As it is I'm tempted to take you home afterwards."
"That'll mean he's had a wasted journey."
"Oh that's worse than me having a wasted journey is it?" (I am quite ashamed as I recount this but fuck, I'm a flawed human being, what can I say...)
Down in the changing rooms I'm telling my son he has to hurry, the class has started.
"Mummy, you made the right choice with my daddy."
The poor child. His comment was met with silence.
Not silence in my head of course. Oh no. My head was going ten to the dozen. No, I didn't make the right choice but yes, of course I made the right choice for without choosing him I wouldn't have you. AAARRRGGGHHH.
Silence for my child meanwhile. Not even a hug. Not even a little fluff of his lovely hair. Not even a "yes, I did."
I helped him with his swimming cap, said "enjoy your class" and took myself outside for a few drags on Nicoteen.
The Foca found me in the seating area. A mini row ensued. I didn't care. I didn't even care that I was coming off worse in the eyes of the many spectators.
We sorted it out. We 'reconciled'. He asked me "how's your housing going?" so I told him I had "three men coming round my flat tomorrow." I told him everything he did not know. I told him the meeting might be "pointless" but "hopefully not".
He suggested we go down the changing rooms and tell our son it was a misunderstanding.
"You tell him," I said. "I've got to go home."
RRRRAAGH. Why do I want to rip my soul out?
I did make the right choice my son. Of course I did.
I can see that somewhere inside me. I'll see it better soon.