Diary of a Desperate Wife and Mother - aged 35...and a half

My Dad Put What Where?!

Thursday

I am absolutely fuming by the time I get up at 6 bloody a.m. As I predicted Paul came home late, 1 a.m. late and was beyond drunk. He couldn't even get his key in the door and resorted to knocking on it, loudly making the dog bark. When I got downstairs and let him in he had a stupid smirk on his face that I wanted to wipe off for him, an urge that grew when I noticed Greg behind him telling me that Paul had said he could stay so that he didn't wake his wife and kids, but never mind me or my kids, nor my dog!

Paul came to bed after I found pillows and a duvet for Greg and although I had no desire to share a bed with my husband who smelled of beer I refused to let him sleep in Martin's bed, not that I hadn't been tempted to jump in there myself, but as a point of principal I refused to be driven from my own bed so I lay there for 5 hours listening to him snoring and farting and now I am up, banging round the kitchen while my brother-in-law annoys me more by sleeping through the banging and thumping I am doing.

By the time I go back upstairs for my shower Paul is stirring and although he is clearly hung over and I am still annoyed with him, he is very attractive lying naked in our bed, but the smell that hits me like a brick wall when I walk in is so disgusting that I can't even bring myself to look at him any longer, never mind kiss him or more. Once I am showered and dressed I find Paul and Greg downstairs eating a full English breakfast and I am even more irritated by them both than I was before because suddenly they are absolutely fine, in tip-top condition while I feel as though I have a bloody woodpecker living in my head and a gremlin in my guts churning them over and over. My hangover is far worse than theirs and that is grossly unfair in my book, especially as I am the only one going to work. My mood darkens further when I receive a text from Gemma informing me that she is going to try and book my bikini wax in for Saturday. What the hell have I done? I leave for work once I have given Paul a million and one instructions for Finn's birthday the following day.

I get to work early, really early so pop into the coffee shop a few doors away and reaching into my bag I pull my old diary out, the one I deliberately brought out with me.

Victoria's Diary aged 15 and a half

It's official, I am on the pill...I'm not sure what I expected but I don't feel any different, but I thought I would. I have read the leaflet loads and there are things that can happen including getting bigger and tender boobs, but mine are no different. There are like hundreds of side effects but I can't be bothered to read them because they're not actually real, well they are, but it's like if one person says they broke a nail when they were taking some tablets they have to put it on the leaflet which is what I mean by them not being real. I keep them in my locker at school in the week and then hide them at Steven's at the weekend because my Mum would seriously flip and my Dad and brothers would assume that me and Steven are already doing it and I couldn't guarantee that they wouldn't give him a bit of a slap.

We haven't done it though, we're waiting to make it special. I mean we have done loads of other stuff, just not it. We still kiss, all the time and I love it, how it feels, how it makes me feel and we touch each other with our hands and a bit with our mouths, but no more, not until it's right. Yesterday at Steven's we had a talk about it and have decided that it needs to be right for us both so that when we're old, like in our 30's it will still be special and when we think about it and talk about it will still be something sweet and loving. I even said that when we have children, a boy and a girl, we decided, but not for years and years after we have our careers and a house with a conservatory, but when our children are older and we tell them the facts of life, especially when I tell our daughter I can tell her how special it should be, how beautiful and that it should be something you never ever forget or regret, like I know I won't with Steven.

My Mum told me about the facts of life and it was awful really, for her and me. My Mum was embarrassed about it all, maybe because she didn't want me to know those things and imagine her and my Dad doing it which makes me feel sick in my mouth a bit, that's disgusting, they're my parents for God's sake! Anyway she was embarrassed and so was I. She told me she would tell me but if I laughed...like I was ever going to laugh it when all I could think about was her and my Dad, but she said if I laughed she would stop telling me and never discuss it again, I didn't laugh!

Victoria's Diary aged 35 and a half

I didn't laugh then bit I am laughing now as I recall the horror or being told the facts of life by my mother and my own naïve stupidity and romanticising my 'first time'. The thought of my parents having sex still haunts me as does the memory of my mother's talk which consisted of when you are married you have to do this, or more like allow it to be done to you. She told me that it was something that married couples did to have babies. There was no talk of love, pleasure or God forbid an orgasm. I laugh again as I receive a message from Gemma telling me that she has tagged me in something on Facebook, the same Facebook I have been avoiding because of the friend request situation, although I don't have to look at that, I can just check the notification for whatever Gemma has tagged me in.

I open the app on my phone and laugh hysterically when I see the video of some woman's face and screams as she undergoes her first bikini wax. Gemma has popped a comment on it that says, 'you, Saturday, 11 o'clock'. I mutter a curse at that and then see the friend request lurking, drawing me in, oh what the hell, it might not even be him...