I recently Googled casino online rating because I thought I might like a flutter – just to see if the odds of winning a few quid were better than, say, getting my child to hang up a towel. Spoiler: they are. The casinos, I mean. I now trust the average slot machine more than I trust my teenager to close the fridge door after standing in front of it for four minutes like a lost extra from Frozen.
This wasn’t how I thought parenting would go. I pictured soft-focus mornings making pancakes, laughing about spilled milk (literally), and my child saying things like, “Thanks for always being there, Mum.” Instead, she sends me TikToks of cats falling off beds and then yells at me for breathing too loud while she’s watching Love Island.
Everything in my life feels like a gamble. Will I get a parking space at Lidl that doesn’t involve complex reversing geometry? Will I leave the house wearing a bra? Will I make it through a Monday without crying in a Tesco toilet? Honestly, it’s 50/50 on a good day.
And the thing is, I know I’m not alone. I see you, other mums in joggers with that “I’ve eaten six dinosaur nuggets and a half packet of chocolate buttons” look in your eyes. I see you nodding solemnly when someone says, “He’s going through a phase,” as though that phase hasn’t lasted four years and involved seventeen broken remote controls.
I sometimes fantasise about what life would be like if I had a PA. Not a fancy one. Just someone who stops me before I put my phone in the fridge or try to use dry shampoo instead of deodorant. Or maybe someone who just hands me a gin and tonic at 5pm and says, “You’re doing great, Jo. No one needs to know about the fish finger sandwich dinner. Again.”
The other day I sat on the edge of my bed, holding a pair of socks and wondering if I’d already put socks on. That’s where we’re at. Casino life, baby. Sometimes I roll a six and remember it’s bin day. Sometimes I roll a one and realise I’ve bought coconut milk instead of actual milk, and now the child thinks I’m trying to poison her.
Last week I found a banana in my handbag. Not in a cute, organised “Oh, look, a healthy snack!” way. In a “How long has this been here and why is it fermenting?” way. I’m one step away from carrying around a cheese string in my bra for emergencies.
If parenting has taught me anything, it’s this: no one knows what they’re doing. We’re all just pressing buttons and hoping for a win, like a toddler playing fruit machines. So if today feels like chaos, pour yourself a glass of wine, rate your day somewhere between “meh” and “accidental glitter explosion,” and remember – even the worst odds can come good sometimes.
Just maybe don’t take parenting tips from the blackjack table. Or do. At least you’ll feel lucky when the house wins and all you’ve lost is your dignity and the last of the Crunchy Nut.