I had an interesting conversation the other day at a friend’s. I was speaking to a lady who’s the anniversary of her father’s passing coming up and we were talking about how it affects us. Now I don’t always find the day itself that hard, in fact I don’t find the run up too bad. However, I hate Father’s Day. Can’t stand it. I don’t think I’ve ever really been honest nor realised how much it really bothers me until this weekend when we chatted about it. I just suddenly blurred out how much I hate it and that it’s not just about Poppa M. Father’s Day sucks bum when you don’t have a dad.

It’s that thing, I hate it more for little P than I do me. I had a dad and yes I miss him but she hasn’t ever had that experience and for all it does bother her, as I’ve said before it bothers me. I worry how it will effect her moving forward, and if it will bother her. I worry about if her Dad decides he wants contact what that brings in terms of her safety, physically and emotionally. Equally I worry about if she decides she wants to make contact with him what similar issues that raises. Obviously, I cannot control any of these things and I have to just do whatever is in the best interests of P but that doesn’t mean to say it’s not a nagging worry. It also is a sure sign that I’m worrying and thinking about things that may never happen or if they do are way way off in the future but they’re there as worries all the same.

It’s not the worries that bother me the most though, that’s not why I hate Father’s Day. I hate it because I’m jealous, really and truly, honestly jealous. Father’s Day and to be fair other times of the year (father’s day in particular) can be the worst for feeling like you are surrounded by the traditional 2 point 4 happy family. That everyone around you is singing the praises of their Dads, Grandads and basically any male father figure in their life. Whilst we’re not. Now I know I sound like I’m making a fuss over nothing because it’s only a superdad mug, badly buttered toast handmade by toddlers for breakfast in bed one morning each year, but it gets to me. Not P, once again she doesn’t mind or care (crikey I really need to take a leaf out of her book) but me, it irritates me and quite frankly I’m in a grump on the build up and on the day.

The thing is, I’ve learnt to accept it now. It is what it is. It’s Father’s Day and I’m going to be a bad tempered little shit and have to just swallow it up, not let it upset anyone else, avoid social media and suck it up for one crappy day. And no, thank you for your suggestions of things we could do to celebrate in our own way, I’ve tried that, I just need to let it be another day and accept I’ll be in a bit of a grump whilst I grieve for my dad and feel it for little P. I just need to accept it and move on, because it’s ok to feel a bit annoyed and upset about the situation, as long as it doesn’t consume me.

It’s ok to get annoyed and frustrated with things once in awhile. We all know how much I love the little dream team P and I are, we’ve great a set up but that doesn’t mean that every once in awhile I can be a bit pissed off by some of the niggles and annoyances of it. Accepting and coping with things doesn’t mean having to be positive and perfect all the time, it’s actually about being honest and facing up to the fact that sometimes things aren’t all sunshine and roses. Sometimes we don’t like things that are out of our control and we just need to roll with it a little, even if it’s not nice and we have to admit that we’re going to have a rough day.

So I’ve finally admitted that actually life isn’t always rosey and yes, I will be pissed off every Father’s Day for awhile, but that’s ok, I’m allowed to be once a year.