There’s no doubt about it: I failed as a mother today.
Managed to whack Hector on the head with a clothing security tag in Jigsaw (he screamed so loudly the assistant brought him some biscuits to shut him up). To make up for it, I decided to take him to McDonalds for lunch. Bad plan. He had two chips and started screaming again, his mouth resembling a letterbox.
Not even the balloon and toy would calm him down. As I polished off Hector’s abandoned Happy Meal (highlight of my day so far) I did notice one interesting thing.
McDonalds in Chelsea (I ventured over the bridge today) doesn’t attract the usual BigMac meal crowd at all. It’s packed with middle-aged women in diamonds and dark glasses, sitting on their own, stuffing their faces with cheeseburgers and chips – as if they haven’t eaten for weeks (which they probably haven’t).
At least I was in distinguished company. And these glossy women couldn’t have cared less about my screaming child, so absorbed were they in their secret fast food fix.
I relaxed. And as my shoulders dropped so too did Hector’s. We made up over a McFlurry.
Chelsea McDonalds, I shall be back.