I started the morning with melon that tasted of sadness and despair… a fruit that had clearly been forced to grow in less than optimal conditions, plucked too soon and then shoved into a boat or a plane or something fucking else, I don’t know, the point is, IT WASN’T READY and it wasn’t the start of the day I wanted. I don’t know why I buy melons out of season but these are the sorts of dramas and hardships that can really set my days theme; one tasteless melon can break me.
So I’m pleasantly surprised to report that the tasteless watery bastard did NOT actually ruin my day. I have harvested it’s minimal vitamin juiciness and am using it to my advantage to live and breathe n shit. I worked, it was manageable, I finished work, I collected the wombfruit, fed it and then Christiaan bathed it and put it to its bed, it fucked around a bit but its sleeping now. It’s been a very normal day except…. I need to sleep really badly and fuck me am I sore. I really don’t like taking pain killers during my working day, because in all honestly it’s like playing hide and seek, in the dark, in the middle of the ocean, with ear muffs and a blindfold on. Without medication and on a good day I have no idea if my words will form when I talk, or if I’ll be able to remember what I was going to say, or even if it’ll make sense; when you add some hefty drugs into the mix it becomes a party for one at a wake…. I am that person that’s completely pissed, falling asleep and gorging myself on egg mayo sandwiches, and it’s embarrassing. It’s even worse when you’re hyper aware of it because your brain willingly lets you make a tit of yourself and then says “see, I told you should have kept your cake hole shut you gobby cow”. The mental thing to me though is that others don’t seem to notice it so much. In fact they’ll go to great lengths to tell me they hadn’t noticed, or that they often do the same thing, forgetting words and stumbling over your speech is normal … but it’s really not the same, I’ve changed. I used to be different and this bastard illness has kidnapped the person I was before. If I had ALWAYS been like this I could probably agree but I was always SO articulate before. I rarely messed my words up, I regularly presented to hundreds of people without missing a beat, I could challenge any argument, question or point of view I didn’t agree with and I was the person they wheeled out to dish out bad news – I had a way with words. I guess I must still pull that off to some extent, I still have my job, people are still positive about my performance…. but I notice that I’m not the old me, even if no one else does. It comes back to my points yesterday – this is an invisible illness and in some ways that’s the cruelest thing; you sometimes look the same and sometimes sound the same as you always did but you’re not. You’re knackered, and sore and irrationally pissed off about tasteless melon.
I’ve become a bit of a master of deception now really. I use distraction or move the conversation away from me when I’m struggling to articulate what I want to say and how. Eli, bless his unreasonable shit covered wee socks, is often a prop for me; I can guarantee that he’ll drop a turd, throw a paddy or sing a song right when I need him most, that’s how much he loves me. Fuck me I adore that kid.
I love him so much that I spend an obscene amount of money clothing him. Partly because I love the clothes but also because it draws people’s eye away from me and on to him. Sneaky eh? I discovered kids Scandi clothing via “the girls” on the mums facebook page I told you about yesterday. I wanted something comfy and stretchy that would wash well and wasn’t just plain grey, blue or navy. I didn’t like seeing Eli in jeans or buttoned shirts; they looked great on other kids but he just looked a tit in them. So, after a few recommendations, a few purchases elsewhere and some stalking of the internets I came across a fairly local independent store online who sold organic, bright, comfy and durable kids clothing…. enter stage left Little Buttons Boutique. Run by Mandy and Wendy they are among the loveliest retailers I deal with and are responsible for some of these cracking outfits (alongside Strawberry Meerkat Boutique)
(yes it looks like he had a fight with crayola and a unicorn… I’m alright with that).
The brands launch new prints during each season so if you can’t find what you’re looking for, hold tight and something just a cracking will be on its way v soon. Now this is a hobby for me, I love making Eli look like an adorable walking migraine. I can find him ANYWHERE in a sea of kids within about 4 seconds, and not just because he’s crying or throwing himself around having a tantrum….but I know it can be pricey. It’s worth saying that the resale on these brands is mental – you can often get up to 70% of the price you paid back, if not more by selling on pages like this one: Scandi/Scandi-esque kids sales and auctions UK . I kind of stumbled on the resale benefit by accident mind, I joined a fan page on Facebook and ended up in a completely militant drama fueled selling page. You have NO idea how bat shit some get over last years print, or forthcoming prints, it’s a complete eye opener and a whole new level of hormone fueled crazy. Anyway, I stepped cautiously away from drama filled page and the Mother Teresa Admin crew and found this lot who, although still fanatical about the organic brands, have a better sense of reality when it comes to buying and selling kids clothes and are less likely to send you a turd through the post- they’re a good place to start if you want to pick up some second hand bargains.
I make no apologies for spending on Eli’s clothes, I know I’m privileged to be able to and I’m grateful; it’s a hobby I love, it brings me a huge amount of pleasure and Ben Avacado makes me (you’ll know now who that is but I do… I blame her). We share a love of the bright and stretchy do Ben and I – we talk about different brands and patterns most days and I’ve become her import and export manager because she’s off of FOREIGN. There’s nowt better on a shitty day than seeing this adoreable wee creature singing and dancing like a wee rainbow. It gives me ALL of the happy, even when he shits on it, spews on it or spills stuff on it…. the latter isn’t very often to be fair because he’s shit at eating.
I’m sure everyone thinks I’m a twat when I say he’ll only eat home made soup for lunch, or pasta with home made sauce for dinner but it’s true and it’s not through any sort of snobbery either. I’d LOVE to be one of these serendipity mum’s who took great pleasure in lovingly gazing at my child while he eats a 3 course home made meal at every opportunity but sometimes I just want the little git to eat a sandwich or fish fingers and chips. I JUST WANT TO THROW CHICKEN NUGGETS AT IT! I see kids in restaurants, younger than Eli, digging into all sorts… he wont even touch something he doesn’t recognise. In fact he cries if you put something alien on his plate, like a chip… so I eat them all instead and then I gain more bellies *sigh*.
Perhaps he’s just trying to do me a solid by not eating anything? You know, to distract from my illness?
yeah that’ll be it…