First off, confession time. I lasted approximately 23 hours before caving in and having a Diet Coke. It felt as though I was having a fag after making my promise to Alan Carr (not the one off the telly) and made me realise that I don’t do giving up. The only reason I gave up smoking five years ago was because I’d run out of reasons to do it (thanks to Mr Carr and his army of –brainwashers– staff). I have never stuck to a diet, an exercise regime or any kind of hobby that requires regular and consistent effort. Whether it’s boredom, bloody-mindedness or a desire to break the rules, however self-imposed, I cannot stick at anything, and that includes abstinence.
So although I KNOW it’s not doing me any good, giving up Diet Coke isn’t going to work. I’ll just have to work harder at other things to counter its noxious effects…(as with wine, chocolate, coffee, and all the other things that make life more enjoyable).
This morning, I went to a playgroup in the village I’ve just moved to. It was a lovely morning, and despite my utter exhaustion I felt slightly buoyant as I went in. I’m not normally very good at meeting new people, and almost always need them to make the first move. However, today I was armed - I had an ace up my sleeve, in the form of my worst ever night with B (the 10 month-old). Last night, he was awake from 1am to 6.30 am. And no, he didn’t sleep in between. The other women may have thought I was exaggerating, but I told my tale with conviction and much false modesty. I felt just as ropey as on a normal day, but I’m sure my eyes shone with pride in my achievement of the shittest night in the room.
I came home, secure in the knowledge that at least I would probably be remembered next week (if only as the new mythomaniac) – and that there was a Diet Coke waiting for me in my fridge. I didn’t have it in the end, but it was important to know it was there, and that I could have it any time I wanted. I may need it after all, around 3am tomorrow…