Something amiss with domestic bliss

Why is it that your domestic life stops screaming ‘bliss’ the moment one of your fabulous single friends comes to stay?
‘Minger’ (ironically nicknamed because she’s actually insanely pretty) is a tanned string bean topped with bright blue eyes and cute blonde curls.
Her best friends are ‘Sass’ and ‘Bide’, her nails are always done, and she probably wears high heels to bed.
She came down from Sydney for a weekend – for a fresh dose of Master Seven and to meet Li’l Fatty.
And it couldn’t have started better.
I mean, she must have been seriously lusting after my life as Li’l Fatty greeted her with gorgeous gummy grins and a handsome Master Seven walked out of school and straight into her arms.
Minger also finally met my other half, Learner Dad, and he was suitably friendly, fun and impressive.
She was undoubtedly considering giving up the high life in Sydney for the domestic bliss I’d pulled together in Tassie.
Then along came Saturday.
First up I took her to a kids’ party.
She watched amused as children ran, screamed, fought, hugged, spewed or ate their way around the hall.
And she listened as mothers swapped advice on lack of sleep, behavioural problems and the best daytime TV.
It wasn’t long after we left there I found the nits, swarms of them forming communities above Master Seven’s ears.
So when we were at the movies and he paused between scratching to shove his paws into her popcorn, Minger gracefully relinquished it.
It was harder to maintain her grace when he later tackled her to the ground and started licking her face.
After Ice Age 4, which really wasn’t that good, we picked Li’l Fatty up from his Nanny’s, who told us he’d not slept the whole afternoon.
Next thing I knew it was me on the couch at home, desperately trying to breastfeed a screaming baby to sleep while rubbing headlice lotion into Master Seven’s hair at the same time.
With Learner Dad working all weekend and at an engagement party that night, I realised it probably looked like I was doing it especially tough.
As I glanced at my fancy friend sat elegantly on the other couch, I knew Miss Bliss had packed her bags and left.
“This will make you think about contraception hey?” I ventured quietly.
“Oh no Ali, not at all, they’re adorable,” was what I thought she’d say.
“Hell yeah,” she said instead, self-consciously scratching through her own hair.
(And if she’d seen me at 3am, on hands and knees in the bathroom, scrubbing Master Seven’s post-party spew off the floor, milk puddles forming beneath me as Li’l Fatty slept off his big day… any doubts she had would have gone right out the window!)

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