I find myself talking about how my Dad would react to things, I talk about what he would do if he were here now, what he’d say and what he’d think about things, life and people now.

I know he’d be proud, I know he’d be so pleased I’ve made some of the life choices I have since he died. I know he’d love toddler P and I know he’d be fighting my corner every day. I know he’d also kick my arse and tell me in his most annoying stupidly dickheadish way when I was being a shithead myself and needed to listen to him. Then I’d completely ignore him like I always did and do the complete opposite, because no matter how much mum told him, he never cottoned on to the fact that I’m a stubborn mule and will do the oppositely what you tell me to do just to spite you and prove a point. I know he’d be sorry, for some of the really crappy shit things he did over the years and I know he’d be grateful to be around and try put them right.

My dad wasn’t a bad man, he was just a stupid man, he was lost, lonely and very very sad. And I know I don’t want to be like he was, I don’t want to wallow in the bad things that have happened to me and I don’t want to live in a negative place. I don’t want to let my past experiences carve a sad future path for me and toddler P and so I do everything in my power to fight it and to be stronger, better and happier.

It was toddler Ps birthday this weekend and we spent it surrounded by people we love. She a bit like me has lost some people in her life, but she’s not short of love. She may not have the biggest bloody family unit around her, but she’s a wealth of people who care. Really truly care. It meant so much to us to have genuine people be kind and just plain give a shit about us. But something spoilt the weekend, something small that some did to hurt us. It’s not really a big deal at all, in fact it’s really small, irrelevant and just a bit disappointing to be honest. I brushed it off and forgot about it and went on enjoying celebrations and being with my best girl.

Then I remembered, then I thought about what dad would say, and he’d have been furious, he’d have been angry, upset and very very disappointed. Because it was unfair, unnecessary and quite frankly mean. He’d have told me to ignore it, forget it and not have expected anything more from someone. He’d have told me to focus my energy on those genuine people, who came round to blow out candles, play poundshop pass the parcel (it’s becoming a family tradition) sing baby shark and overdose on blue food colouring. He’d have told me not to let it get to me and that he loved us both.

Dad was never good at handling his emotions, he was never very good at dealing with challenging things. He wasn’t very good and opening up about what truly bothered him. He let things eat him up inside then dealt with it all in the wrong way, sometimes taking it out on those he cared about the most. Yet he always told me not to do that, he always told me to focus on what really matters and not to worry too much. He didn’t want me to make the same mistakes as him.

A good friend said to me last night, “don’t let it bother you, forget about it and enjoy your girl’s birthday” and I did. I vented, I let out my frustration by sharing it with a couple of close reliable and honest friends. Then I dusted myself off and got right back on the horse that is motherhood and focused on my newly turned 2, hyperactive daughter. Because that what dad would’ve said to do.