Am I my daughter's primary care giver?

Okay, I take it back. Tuesday was not my worst day ever because today tops the bill.

My car is off the road and not only is my daughter blaming me for her imminent tonsil and adenoid-ectomies, I have just had a heated tete a tete with my parents.

The deal breaker, however, had to be being asked by my ex what makes me think I am my daughter's primary care giver?!

I mean, seriously, what planet is this guy on?

Is it not enough that I care for her, cook for her, wash her clothes, entertain her and love her endlessly?

Not to mention maternity leave, giving birth, breast feeding and constantly worrying about her welfare?

Did I not spend nights at home caring for my girls while he rehearsed, gigged, went drinking with the lads, sulked in the bedroom, walked out in the huff and played his guitar?

And all this coming from a man who has been too hungover to come and see her on at least two occasions this month.

Pffffft.

A friend just described his views as myopic and, yes, I think that might well be the case.

Just as well I have pizza in the fridge.