What a strange week it’s been. It certainly has been a roller coaster, with the highs of an award at Speech Day for our youngest, (plus an award recognising the commitment my husband has with his voluntary coaching he does week in, week out at school) and then the (?selfish) lows of Saturday night.

Saturday was the annual fund raising ball at school, where teachers and parents all let their hair down and have fun. We almost missed out on tickets, but managed to get 4, and I asked our youngest if he would be OK staying at my parents over night so that I could have a proper grown up night out (our eldest usually babysits, but he was coming too!). I wouldn’t drink, because I don’t tend to, and so would be there to have breakfast with him and then we could have a normal Sunday. Back in February he agreed, so I assumed it was all sorted, and started planning our Big Night Out.

Earlier last week, I checked that he was still OK with the arrangements. His face dropped, and it was clear he wasn’t. He was OK going, but didn’t want to stay over. I asked him to reconsider as it was a big deal, and I really wanted to stay out late. I thought it was all resolved, until Saturday afternoon when we chatted about packing his bag and I mentioned staying over. Tears, a shutdown and a change of plan was needed.

So, the new plan was that we went out (we did) and he would stay at my parents (which he did), but we would be home by midnight to pick him up. In return, he would keep it together, not meltdown or shutdown, and we would be able to stay out til then. All OK, compromise made, time to get ready and go.

I had an amazing time. The food was nice, good company, funny speeches, but it all went on a bit, so by the time we had to think about getting ready to leave, it was only just getting started. No dancing, no mixing, no real socialising, and on the way home, I got so cross and so upset. I wanted one night of not watching the clock or checking my phone. I wanted to leave when my feet hurt from dancing, or when everyone else was going. I didn’t want to be the first to leave. I wanted to be carefree, and instead I was conscious of the time. I want to be in some of the funny photos that are on social media, I wanted to do dodgy mum-dancing, make memories and laugh at the jokes we all shared. Instead, we left early, and were home soon after midnight.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I really let my hair down and threw caution to the wind. I can’t remember not worrying or phone checking. I can’t remember being completely spontaneous; I can’t remember being completely selfish and putting me at the centre of plans. That makes me sad.

On the flip side, though, I can discuss Einstein with one son, and the general election with the other. I can indulge in thoughts and conversations on time travel, music, and the benefits (or not) or spirulina and coconut flour.

I really so have an amazingly blessed life. There is so little for me to complain about, and I know that compared to many special needs parents, we have it so easy.  But sometimes it all gets a bit much, and it seems really hard. Sometimes it feels very controlled, and it feels that I sometimes forget who I am while I try to help my wonderful boys.

This isn’t asking for pity, by the way, far from it. I really do have an amazing life, and we are planning for exciting changes in the future. I honestly wouldn’t change anything as it all works, and, for the huge majority of the time, it is truly wonderful.

So, I am now going to crank the radio up, and do some very dodgy mum dancing round the kitchen – and I don’t care who knows!