Knocked Up..

ah ha!!!

Did I get ya??

I just meant we went to the cinema tonight and saw the moooooovie!

Had a great time. Bam came over to sit for the girls and we went out and ate our bodyweight in chocolate and popcorn.

Always a good way to stay motivated for the wedding dress buying. 

On that note.. kind of… have made an appointment to get my Mirena out. But not for knocking up purposes…. I didn’t mean on *that* note.. I meant on the note of fitting into wedding dresses.

I feel this hormone thingy is stopping my body from being normal. I am not being the best behaved person in the world and I’m certainly not sticking to ww 100%.

But

I am being good. Good enough to lose a 1lb a week I would have thought. And it’s not happening. So I’m getting shot of the hormonal interference and I’m going to see what happens then.

Hopefully – I’ll see some change in that …. otherwise… we’ll just be ruining our sex life for no reason!

I’ll keep you posted.

On the weight loss… not the sex life.

There’s sharing and then there’s *sharing*!!

Is it a bit pathetic

… that I still wish Father Christmas was real at 30?

Do you think ..

…if I asked for forty comments I might get them? Or am I not popular enough for that…?

I too am a comment pro.. but the scary thought of offering no more blogging is that someone might actually take me up on that!! I love getting comments – I do.. I can’t help it… I even think about my blog when I’m at work and wonder if anyone has been by.. and if I’m having a particularly quiet day then I try and see if I can squeeze in a sneaky login and check out any new visitors….

I know I know… sadness in the extreeeeme…. but I just can’t help it… my little heart skips a beat when I see ‘1 comment awaiting moderation’

Woohoo!! I think… someone new wants to talk to me… how exciting!! Then my disappointment when it’s usually Porn Queen Jemima trying to sell me Viagra or a penis transplant… or a Ford Escort .. which frankly is just the most bizarre spam ever!

So… I am asking how many people want to say hello… can I get 40 comments?

How about 10 then?

Scary thought.. the heavy weight of impending rejection…

Take Comfort.

You know today I think I saw my kids for an hour.

It’s very hard .. most days I start work around 8 so I leave the house about 7.50am or thereabouts and make my way to work. I know that isn’t tremendously early or anything so anyone that’s reading this thinking I’m a lightweight.. just chill your boots!!

There’s a lot of pressure on at work at the moment.. we’re not having the best year as a company (although as a branch I’m doing really well) and there’s been a big head honcho brought in to sort things out.. So work is … … … work is busy and it’s hard. It’s focus focus all day and it’s taking a lot out of me. I not only have to focus myself .. but I have to focus everyone else as well.

I’m shattered and I know it’s showing. My temper is short. I feel like I’m constantly saying ‘in a minute’ which is ridiculous because I’m never here in the first place. It seems a little rich when I think about it.

BN looks tired and tired out. More tired throughout really. He has a short fuse a lot these days with Rowan .. she is very annoying it has to be said.. and I have an equally short one to match… she really is milking this terrible two thing.. There are days where I could cheerfully squidge her.

So.. when he’s clearly being pushed all day with the kids.. (Ella also creeping up on the slightly more interactive stage.. nothing ANYWHERE is safe from her grabby little paws…) he’s being pushed and he’s alone.. all day every long day.. I feel even worse when most days all I want to do when I get home is come back and go to sleep.

I have admitted more than once that if I stayed at home with my children, I know I would not have the slightest slice of the good relationship that I have with them now.

Most nights I finish at 6.. get home for half past or around there usually.. it’s straight into teatime, then bath-time then bedtime and I feel like I’m putting them to bed, as different children every day. I don’t really take breaks most days just because my job is one of those never ending ones where there never seems to be a good time to take one and really I do love it so it’s hard to tear myself away most days.

I have 6 staff now so there’s always someone wanting.. which is fine.. it’s just that when I get home.. there’s always someone wanting too… some days it would be nice to get home and be able to go and spend half an hour in a room alone!

But I can’t do that because I know that BN is desperately waiting on my return so he can escape them kids and get some peace too. Even though peace for him is in the kitchen cooking everyone dinner.

He is great. Seriously. Love you BN … I know you’re readin’ x

So.. I feel like a bit of a crap mother.

I found a text message today on my phone that BN sent me on the way back from hospital just after Ella was born.

I hope you have an OK night, you did great. I love you x

When I got this text message, I was feeling a bit crap. I’d had a difficult birth, it hadn’t gone right (good result yes) and I was feeling a little bit like I could have done better. Finding this message today made me think that maybe there are people out there that think you’re great even when you feel like you’re doing shite.

We should take comfort in that and when we’re looking at the negative.. think of those around us that are looking at us in a completely different way altogether.

The kind of thing my mum did.. Bad Language I warn you.

It was when I was 15 or 16 I realised I WAS the absolute dog’s bollocks.

I was cool. Hey, I was 16. I was the smartest.. the most smart mouthed, cheeky, answering back, sarcastic and probably disagreeable little pubescent girl in my house.

My parents were pretty strict. They had rules and regulations. Some I understood and some I didn’t. They had a lifestyle planned out for us that we were expected to adhere to.

We would work hard, do well at school, get good marks, get good exam results, get good jobs, be self sufficient, independent women. And Rich

We lived in a village, just outside .. about 3 miles outside the nearest town. Just recently I’ve found out that this was strategically planned to control us as children (and teenagers) with minimum enforcement required on their part. They knew that as we were growing up and going out (as non drivers) that we would require their assistance in order to get anywhere… because we were in the middle of fucking nowhere!! .. and more importantly.. get BACK from anywhere. Late at night. When you don’t want to spend money on cabs!

Hence.. the clever bastards.. they always got to take us to and pick us up to wherever and from wherever we were.

Genius. They always knew where we were. And we didn’t even guess really. Or should I say.. I didn’t. I am too trusting. As we all know.

Anyway.

They weren’t the kind of parents that promoted ‘out of grounds’ activity really. They were home oriented. Still are. They love being at home, with each other and were quite happy to have all their family around them. I had a job round the corner at the local pub. I didn’t really have my rebellious stage until about 3 years later so I was pretty well behaved at this time.

I didn’t watch things on TV that they didn’t want me to. I did my homework. Usually. I didn’t drink. I didn’t go places that I wasn’t supposed to. I wasn’t out doing rude things with boys. Much. I didn’t swear… at home..!

My parents had a very particular position on swearing. We didn’t do it.

I think I managed to sneak out a ‘bloody’ now and again when either one of them was in a particularly good mood but generally speaking… it just wasn’t acceptable for us to swear. Ever.

It was an unspoken rule. They didn’t swear. I don’t ever remember asking.. ‘Hey, why don’t you swear?’ It was just fact. They didn’t do it. And you knew that you didn’t do it either.

Something about never hearing someone swear.. just kind of means you don’t either. When you’re with them. Of course.. at school/college.. I was cool! I swore like a trooper.

So one day.. my mum and I were having a raging argument discussion and the yells shouts and screams sensibly discussed points were firing sailing backward and forward in a pubescent parental kind of way that we all remember (or are living right now!)

“Oh.. why don’t you JUST FUCK OFF!!!!!!” I suddenly retorted.

And that was it. It was that moment I knew my life was over as I knew it.

At least for the forseeable future. You just didn’t yell FUCK OFF at my parents.

Not if you wanted to live.

Not if you valued your life in any way – shape – or form.

My mum yelled in situations like this. She involved my dad (ever weary at the female arguments in the house, he would always take mum’s side in whatever was happening.. basically because he just didn’t want to be bothered with it.. and that was far easier for him to do.. I kind of understand that looking back on it now)

So. This was it. There would be shouting. There would be door slamming. There would be punishment. There would be screaming. Probably a slap. Recriminations for days.

Or so I thought.

I closed my eyes ready for the onslaught of hysteria, yelling, reprimanding and general blood bath… but no.

“oooohh FUCK OFF” she mimicked with a smirk on her face.. An extremely mischievous smirk that instantly had my dana puckering in a way that was not entirely pleasant..

My stomach sank as I realised that this … This.was.not.good.

Humour in this kind of situation only means one thing to the child. You lose.

“You want me to fuck off? Why don’t you fuck off? Fuck off back to your fucking room and come fucking back when you’re ready to have a fucking adult conversation.” she replied in a sing song tone that spelled utter misery and pending humiliation for me.

Everything from that point on for days. and days. and DAYS!! was ‘fuck this’ and ‘fuck that’.

‘Greer, it’s time for fucking tea, come down fucking stairs now’

‘Greer, fucking phone for you…………!’ Yelled up the stairs..

‘It’s time to fucking get up now!!!!!’ first thing in the morning for college.

There were notes left for me with general instructions to ‘put out milk bottles for the fucking milkman’, ‘tidy your fucking room’… so many more that I can’t remember…

After about a week.. I gave in.

‘I’m soooo-ooo-ooorrryyy…. puurrrrr – leeeeeeeeeeease stop. I can’t take it… I’ll never swear again..

EVER! I promise.’

Mum slowly smiled. Winked. Spun her office chair back round to her desk and carried on typing.

‘I know’ she said.

Clever cow

Oh Bah!

What is this ability I have to predict the future? Or Whatever..

Rowan woke up in the night crying last night that she’d fallen over.

Yes.

Fallen Over.

In bed.

‘Rowan doesn’t wake up.. she sleeps through..’ blah blah blah..

Ella was awake from 2am till 3am. Rowan woke at 4. Ella woke at 5.

I’ll get my coat.

And go somewhere where children can’t read blogs!!

Protected: Part Two: with the work bit.

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More about me. Part one: with no work.

Why are people so shit? I hate people. I hate the fact that I trust people and I fucking hate the fact that people always seem to let you down.

I find myself constantly wondering these questions. This is not the first time this has happened to me and I’m sure it won’t be the last. But I am left with this defiance. This absolute defiance that I should be made to change the way I am just because people. are. shit.

You may want to go and get coffee… stick with me, it may get interesting. It may not though so I accept no responsibility for blogging induced boredom.

It started with my second boyfriend 13 years ago. It was an ‘ok’ relationship but I didn’t really like him like he liked me. It was OK because it was long distance and I didn’t see him more than about 2 days every 2-4 weeks depending on stuff. I realised when he got his summer break from university; he started coming over every day. I remember thinking: I don’t want to see him. I’m bored. He may have picked up on that
I was too chicken to dump him. I was fat and felt I should be grateful for the attention I suppose. It ended because he cheated on me with a girl called Gretchen. I remember laughing with a mate afterwards that maybe he just had a thing for girls with weird names.

Then my third boyfriend. Well third serious boyfriend. There were a few in between but nothing to write home about.

3 was a shit. Just a complete knobhead really – but my confidence was knocked. He was convenient. He lived in my shared house at uni and it meant I could ’see’ someone without them ever being able to get anything past me, so to speak. Of course the relationship was doomed from the very start because

a) I didn’t really like him,

b) I didn’t find him attractive and

c) he was a cock.

He cheated on me too. But I kind of accept some responsibility for that. I pushed and pushed him toward the end. Argued, picked fights and pushed until he was sick of me. Something you think is cowardly. But applaud me please. This was confidence growing. I didn’t have the confidence to reject the first one so I was getting there.
I didn’t really realise it then… but I hadn’t actually wanted to be with him after the first 12 months. We were ‘together’ for 2years and 3 months. So I had taken my time.

So …. I left this relationship with an unhealthy distrust in men. I thought, well then, they must all be shit. Where’s the fun in that? I treated all subsequent men like they were latent cheating maniacs and drove many prospective boyfs away with my attitude and scepticism that they might be the person who could keep in it their trousers.

Then I met Big. He wouldn’t go away. I’m so glad. He was the first person I saw in a long time that I wanted. I pursued him. And pursued. And pursued. He didn’t mind though and…. eventually he gave in. I say gave in, but I think actually we were pursuing each other. Then my true personality took over with wild abandon. All men are shit rah rah rah.
No they aren’t he said. And then he showed me that he wasn’t a shit.

He’s still showing me how all men aren’t shits seven years later. He’s ace.

So – since the age of about 18 I have felt that men were pretty shit (still reserve some judgement for them seeing as I have no shortage of friends who are being shit on from one week to the next). I instantly feel an emotional bind with any woman that’s been cheated on. And I love the woman that gets her own back. I never did. Not really. Except boyf number 3. His life was going pretty shit last time I heard. SO I kind of feel victory there – but that’s another story.

But ….. women. Shit women. I never learn with women.
You think I would – but I just keep going back for more.
And you know what? That’s what kills me. Women are just too damn clever and they get me every time. Even the little ones.

Pesky

this is what got me interested to do this.. along with SIS … you think nobody will be interested to hear what you have to think about until you realise you’re reading what somebody else is thinking about … surely I can’t be that dull… now all I have to do is learn how to make it look interesting as clearly everything I have to actually say will be riveting!!

peskyapostrophe