I love chocolate.
No, I mean I really love chocolate.
If you told me to go on a chocolate free diet, I would look at you as if you were something from another planet. The words ‘no chocolate’ don’t compute in my brain I’m afraid. I need it. I sometimes only manage to get through a day because I have promised myself a chocolatey treat at the end of it. It’s my own little pat on the back for getting myself through another day without any major disasters.
The problem is; now it’s not just my chocolate – it’s Mummy and Little Man’s chocolate. Now, I would give my little boy anything, literally anything. But chocolate? Think you’re asking a bit too much there son. I know I eat far too much chocolate and I have the jelly belly to prove it but in a super hyprocritical mum like way I limit how much Little Man has. He only has little bars if he does have it and I certainly don’t let him have it everyday. I am a chocolate hypocrite. If I walk into the living room with a chocolate bar while Little Man is happily playing quietly, ready to sit down for 5 minutes and enjoy it, his little sensors pop up. He sticks his nose in the air like a little meercat and bounds over to me saying ‘my turn’. No, no Little Man it is not your turn, but how can I resist those brown eyes (which look a lot like chocolate actually!) so I give him a piece and quickly scoff the rest before he can ask for anymore. Mean? Yes, I know horrible mummy.
So now I have a new plan. I eat the chocolate in the kitchen. The kitchen which has a baby gate on it. Oh yes, I face the window away from the door and I quickly sink a Freddo before he has even noticed I’ve gone. And it seems I am not the only one who does this. My friend was in agreement too when I shared this secret with her; she does exactly the same thing in her utility room. I am ashamed of my behaviour yet strangely proud!
So there we go. I am a mummy and I am a secret chocolate eater.
I’m off to dig out the Freddos and Little Man, if you ever read this; do as I say not as I do!!