Today is DD's 3rd birthday.
She's having a big party which has taken me the last week or so to plan and arrange. I spent most of yesterday making birthday cake and shopping for it, I've spent this morning cooking sausage rolls, running to Asda for more party bags for those little bleeders children who's parents have only just rung me to say that they'll be there, sorting out the toys that will need tranporting to the church hall, talking my lead actor down off the windowledge (play is on next week and he's having a 'crisis' - basically he can't remember his lines and needs his hand holding), and DH, last night, said 'oh, don't worry, I'll take care of dd while you get on with stuff'...
So dd comes into the kitchen in her pyjama top and knickers, jam all over her face, and says 'I wish I had someone to play with'. I say 'what about daddy?', she leads me into the living room to find him snoring on the sofa... I say 'aren't you going to play with dd?' he gives me a look of pure resentment and mutters that he's 'sooooo tired' (and he had a feckin' lie in this morning on MY DAY for it!) and he needs to sleep!
2 hours later, he's still asleep. Things have calmed down a little prep-wise, but I'm so peeved that he can't bloody well think of anyone but himself and his needs for more than an hour (apparently he's sooo tired because he had to play with her non-stop for an hour while I was at Asda)! I suppose I'm also hacked off with him for valuing his sleep higher than playing with his daughter. And also because I damn well know this afternoon he's going to be 'fun daddy' at the party and all my mates are going to say how lucky I am that he's such a wonderful father... I feel like screaming.... but if I do, I know that then I'll be the one in the wrong, like I'm some insensitive bitch who keeps nagging him. Fuck's sake, I feel like I'm his mother, I can't trust him to do a bloody thing - oh, I'll stop now before I work myself up into a righteous frenzy and go kill him... and go and feed/wash/play with dd!