There’s a big difference between the version of me that I want to be and the version of me that exists, day-to-day…
Fantasy me loves exercise. Real me loves the sofa.
Fantasy me bakes biscuits to take around to friends’ houses. Real me parks on a double yellow outside the Co-op to run in and buy some Chocolate Hobnobs.
Fantasy me reads thought-provoking pieces in broadsheet newspapers. Real me checks the showbiz section of the Mail Online like I’m a methamphetamine addict after my next hit of Walter White’s blue crystals.
Fantasy me comes up with elaborate craft ideas for my child to do at the weekend. Real me grabs some (dried up) colouring pens and sheets of paper from our printer and suggests we do some drawing.
Fantasy me has a house worthy of Pinterest, or at the very least worthy of taking lovely photos that can appear on my blog. Real me has piles of clutter everywhere that I have to move before I Instagram anything.
Fantasy me enjoys every precious second I spend with my child. Real me reaches a point at the end of the day where it’s all I can do to switch on Ben & Holly’s Little Kingdom to give myself half an hour of rest on the sofa.
Fantasy me eats my five a day. Real me gets to the end of a day only to realise everything I’ve eaten was beige or orange.
Fantasy me reads intelligent books in bed to unwind and relax. Real me clutches my iPad in bed, reading blogs and scrolling through Twitter and Facebook.
Fantasy me spends Sunday afternoons baking beautiful cakes with my daughter. Real me buys a pack of ‘just add water and an egg’ Peppa Pig cake mix for this activity (Sidenote: these are surprisingly tasty.)
Fantasy me makes a beautiful bento box packed lunch for my child. Real me throws a banana, cheese strings and leftover pasta into a Tupperware.
Perhaps one day I’ll reach my full potential… but in the meantime, I’m embracing my imperfect self.
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