I will find you. I will make you pay.
Emily Writes wrote this in 2015 when she had a new baby but it still stands.
I just want you to know I’m going to find you.
A sleep deprived mother is basically more terrifying than Liam Neeson. You need to know that.
And you should be scared. Because when I find you I’m going to pay you back for waking my kids and me by letting off fucking fireworks at fucking three fucking thirty am till five fucking twenty am.
It may take me years to find you. But that’s OK – I’m committed.
One night you’re going to be asleep. Like I was. When you fucking woke me up.
At 3.30am I’m going to begin a fireworks display, in your room, on you.
From 3.30am till 5.20am. For your enjoyment.
I’m not going to do this every night forever, that would be crazy. But it would also be predictable – and I want you to never know when I’m going to suddenly turn up and shoot fireworks at you.
Before a big exam – I’m going to shoot fireworks at you. Before job interviews, just as you are psyching yourself up in the lift, the doors will open, and I will be there – to shoot fireworks at you. Your first date with that person you’ve been talking to online for months? I’m under the table, and just when you are about to pash I’m going to jump out and shoot fireworks at you.
It’s going to be very hard for you to maintain relationships. When you find that special person who can look past the fact that a mother of two covered in war paint follows you everywhere shooting fireworks at you, I will be quietly pleased.
We have formed an attachment to each other over these past 12 years.
I feel quite teary as I pull off my celebrant mask to reveal myself and shoot fireworks at you for almost two hours at your wedding.
Your new life partner is quite devastated that part of her wedding dress caught fire during the ceremony and again at the reception, but I make no apologies when I burst out of your mattress and shoot fireworks at you when you try to console her in your fancy hotel room.
You did this.
You made the choices you made.
As I emerge from the birthing pool in the delivery suite and shoot fireworks at you at the birth of your first child I wonder if I have gone too far.
You beg me to stop. You’re sorry! You know you were an insensitive dickbag who woke up children and kept everyone awake because you’re a massive jerk. Now that you’re a parent you see the world differently.
I look upon you kindly, I see you more than my own family. I almost feel fond of you. Maybe it is time to stop.
OK I say. You’ve learned your lesson.
You drop to your knees and sob. After 18 years together we have reached our graduation.
That night you have the best sleep you’ve ever had in your life. There is no sense of dread anymore as you close your eyes. You feel free.
Until 3.30am when I burst forth and shoot fireworks at you.
Don’t let off fucking fireworks outside of fucking Guy Fawkes Night and after fucking 10pm.
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