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When T’s poorly his sleep goes to sh*t. The snuffly noises he made when he was breathing and his sad little cries melted my heart, and my broken sleep was interspersed with lovingly trying to make my little man feel better. All he wanted was Mummy cuddles and boob.
My alarm went off at 5.30 am and, clumsy and bleary-eyed, I got ready for work. Now I hated the world and everything in it. Especially my husband who had slept through it all. Bast*rd.
I got my poorly boy into his car seat. Now he was bright eyed and chuckling, the poorliness of the darkness forgotten.
Turning to get out of our car park I misjudged the angle and caught the corner of our neighbour’s house with the side of my car. Hard. There was an awful crunching bang as the car rebounded from the impact.
I stopped the car and reached over to straighten out the wing mirror that had folded over. I paused for a moment, considering my options.
I started the engine and drove away. I didn’t check whether anyone had seen.
It was such a loud bang I was sure someone would have seen what happened. I imagined my neighbour’s furious reaction as he stood at the window, watching me drive away.
I knew I must have caused a lot of damage.
I had to own up and face the consequences.
I rationalised that no one would want someone knocking on their door at 6.30 in the morning to say they’d crashed a car into their house, it could wait until the evening. Plus there can’t have been that much damage, I was driving at 10mph for god’s sake.
It was a long and busy day at work. After finishing nearly an hour late, I drove to collect T from my parents. On the way home I had the horrible sinking feeling of being summoned to the headmaster’s office.
Apology bottle of wine in hand, I rang my neighbour’s doorbell. He couldn’t have been nicer or more understanding, saying that he’d done the exactly the same thing before (twice). The damage to his wall was minimal. There was a little silver paint on the corner and a few chipped bricks.
Unfortunately I can’t say the same for my car. It’s dented and scraped and the door creaks when you open it. It’s f*cked and would probably take a grand’s worth of fixing. We don’t need to fix it though, I’m sure it adds character…
Cheer me up please, I can’t be the only one: what’s the worst thing you’ve done when sleep-deprived?