I hear and read a lot about parents feeling like they are their kids’ chauffeur so I assume it comes with the territory, but, of course, when parents are apart it gets a bit more involved.
Whirling Dervish was living up to her name at a birthday party, spinning around, that girl loves to dance.
Her Mum called to ask Husband if he could pick WD up from the party and bring her home as her (WD’s Mum, are you following?) husband had been called in to work.
Now this was on Sunday, a day we don’t have Whirling Dervish, so of course my first, entirely rational response (to husband, not WD’s Mum) was “we’re not a bloody taxi service.”
To Husband’s credit he did say “Yes” (he always will) but that he would bring WD to ours for a couple of hours rather than just being transport.
To be honest I think WD’s Mum was probably grateful for a couple of hours quiet (she was, at that point, five days overdue (still no sign)).
So, we got bonus time with Whirling Dervish. It was great fun going through the contents of her party bag, which included a game of snap. Man alive, that girl can cheat!
Still, the selfish, cowbag part of my brain was “What if we’d had plans? Why doesn’t she just learn to drive (rational thought of her being 9+ months pregnant didn’t come in to it)? It’s her day with WD, it’s HER problem.”
In complete contradiction, the rest of brain was “It’s great that her first point of call is Husband, WD’s Dad, rather than A.N.Other! Yay for bonus time with WD!”