Do you know, I often sit down to write this and think I’ve got nothing really to say, but then I get started and I get a few thousand words jotted down and it reminds me; I’m a gobby cow.
Today might be a struggle though, because, Mystic Meg has fuck all on me, literally nothing. I could take Mystic Meg and her predictions and make her look as psychic as my cats arsehole in comparison and do you know what? I doubt anyone would be surprised. See I knew yesterday that I had likely fucked myself big time, and I was right. Today has been an utter write off. I’ve had to leave Christiaan to solo parent today because I have done nothing, nothing at all except sleep. I’m still as knackered as I was when I went to bed last night which is the real fucker, so I often wonder what the point of my body requesting all this excessive sleep actually is? I’ve no idea because believe me, if I had a choice I’d 100% prefer to be up all day and knackered, than in bed wasting my hours away but I’ve had no choice – I keep shutting down and when I shut down I need to sleep. So it’s 15.03pm and I’m really hoping I’m now up for the day. I’m not deciding to stay up because I feel a lot better than earlier, I don’t but I’ve slept through so much of Eli’s day today that I really really want to spend some time with him. I miss the unreasonable little arsehole and I miss spending time with Christiaan too. Days like this fill me with a fuck tonne of guilt, Christiaan has to pick up the slack, Eli see’s Mummy looking like a zombie, or worse doesn’t see her because she’s in bed and he must wonder what the fuck is going on. Well probably for all of 2 minutes before he clocks a chocolate biscuit and all is well in his world again. Fickle.
I guess on the plus side he’s had a whole day with Daddy to himself. He’s not had to share him and I know they’ll both have enjoyed that. They had a morning going round the free zoo (Pets at Home) and had done a wee bit of shopping before coming home for lunch and a nap. He’s having a nice afternoon out too – he and Christiaan are at the park at the minute and… well I’m gutted, not that they went without me, because they both need to be out and they’ll be having fun – I don’t grudge them that at all. I’m gutted because yesterday I did a whole heap of nothing important, that really didn’t need to be done all at once it was MY choice to do it all that has meant that I can’t do anything today. I’m gutted because I’m an utter bell end who made choices based on stubbornness and frustration and pay back has arrived to remind me that my fucking illness is in charge.
I’ve literally slept the whole day away. Up at 6 when Eli woke up and back in bed for 8.15 when the boys went out, up at 10.40 when they got back and then back in bed at 12.15 and then up at 2.40pm. I’ve not showered, I’ve not brushed my teeth, I’m still in yesterdays pants under my jammas. I’m gross but I have no energy to change that, it’s just the way it is.
Now I know what you’re thinking: “Who wears pants as well as jammas to bed?”. Well firstly, I can’t believe you don’t. What if there’s a fire and you need to be rescued in the middle of the night? Everyone will judge you in the hospital for not wearing pants: fact. Secondly I wear pants because from a very early age I’ve been paranoid about skid marks. True story. I only wear black pants and would ONLY go to bed in jammas and no pants if I was straight out of the bath or shower and there was no risk of skidders. See, I’m a lazy wiper; arse wiper that is. To be clear, I DO wipe my arse after going for a dump, I mean I’m not an animal, but it’s a very quick one or two swipe affair because… well I don’t want to get shit on my hands. I know that whole cycle makes no sense but that’s the way my brain is wired up and no matter how hard I try, I cannot relax in either white pants or jammas with no pants. Linen trouser season sets me in a right panic, most of my linen trousers are beige so I need to wear white pants. Every time I go for a piss I’m on edge. I wish I could tie it back to some deep rooted psychological reason, or a situation where I’d shat myself but the truth is; I’ve no idea. I just know that I never want to drop my kecks and see skidders there so I wear black pants so if they’re there, I can’t see them. And I always always wear pants with jammas. Which made the conversation with Mum about the Non Stick Pans even more traumatic than it needed to be. And yes I’ve tried wiping my arse more thoroughly – I’m not a fucking moron.
So anyway, I’m sat on the couch, in my scuzzy jammas and pants with no energy to even get up and close the curtains; it’s a cracking day out there but it’s too bright for me really. The boys are out at the park and I know the script; the wee man will be splashing in puddles and stopping to talk to every dog and picking up a million “Stick Men” and I wish to fuck I was there, but no matter how sore I feel about the situation I’m grateful that Eli is out playing and that he and Christiaan get to laugh, and run, and enjoy the day. Some have lived their whole lives and have never had that luxury. While I’ve been sat here feeling sorry for myself I’ve been catching up on the news and am heart sorry to to see that wee Alfie Evans died in the night. Neither that poor wee boy, nor his parents have been able to experience half of what we have with Eli; and that’s enough to shake me out of any woe is me mood I might be wallowing in. It’s been awful watching his family fight with everything they’ve got to try and save their wee one – whether it was the right thing to do or not, no one can say they didn’t try everything they could.
It’s a really complex scenario to try pull apart and I guess I could do what a lot of others have done and go to town with the “if it was me, I would…” but it would be utter horseshit. The reality is; until I was a medical professional who has sole responsibility for putting their patients (not the parents) needs first, or a parent who had sole responsibility for loving and wanting to provide the moon for a child (not the doctors) who is terminally ill, I cannot comprehend the enormity of their entire situation. There were never going to be any winners in such a hopeless situation and I refuse to judge either side for their actions; everyone has done what they felt was the right thing to do. We may agree, or disagree but its between the doctors and the family.
As a bystander I didn’t want the wee lad to suffering anymore; if his body wasn’t strong enough to exist and that landscape wasn’t ever likely to have changed with medical care then I don’t think it’s fair to imprison him forever in pain and illness. I’d not want that for myself and I can’t think anyone would. As a parent, I have no idea how I’d feel and I’d never presume to guess; so I won’t. They have my heartfelt sympathy; they have lost the most precious thing they have ever had and I hope they receive as much love, support and care through their grief as they have through this entire journey.
These sorts of stories really do stop and force you to think though; and as a society that’s a good thing, we should always continue to question morals and ethics – it’s what an evolving democratic society is built on. What we shouldn’t be doing is storming hospitals where there are critically ill patients and abusing medical staff – that sort of shit is disgusting and only serves people who enjoy being part of drama for drama’s sake.
Talking of drama, they’re back and the first thing I heard when they got through the door was “No, you do NOT hit me!”. Before you go calling social services it was Christiaan saying that and not Eli and turns out he’d been an utter tit for a lot of the time they were out….maybe I had a lucky escape after all.
Onward bound to the bedtime wind down now where I hope we’ll be in a better place than we were last night. It took two hours and Eli would not stop fucking screaming. Proper blood curdling screaming. Not in pain – there was nowt wrong with him, he wanted out of bed for a cuddle, or a sore finger, or some calpol, or a drink, and I was determined he wasn’t getting out of bed for love nor money so we battled it out… and he fell asleep just before 8. I HATE the idea of him falling asleep upset – it really gets me deep in the emotion pocket but he’s chancing his arm, and I’ll be fucked if we’re giving up our evenings to argue with a toddler who NEEDS nothing but WANTS everything. Plus its something he’s only started doing in the last week or so – well actually since he was ill and was able to get out of bed at the slightest whimper in case he was gearing up to blow chunks all over the place. It’s tough titty now though son, the normal routine needs to come back into play.
The terrible two’s seem to be turning into the the fucking horrific two’s with the amount of pushing, hitting, temper and utterly mental behaviour we’re experiencing. He’s not the worst kid, I know that, I’ve seen worse, but fuck me is he testing both Christiaan and I. To be honest, I’m not hard to wind up, I have a short fuse and I have to walk away from my darling little fucknut several times a day to save myself shouting, especially around food. At lunchtime, before his soup, we’ve been trying to get him to eat or at least try a sandwich. I may as well make it and through it straight in the bin to save myself the angst of trying to get Eli to at least touch it. He will cry. Cry at a fucking sandwich. Or a brioche roll with peanut butter on as it was today… DOES HE KNOW WHAT I WOULD GIVE FOR A BRIOCHE FUCKING ROLL WITH PEANUT BUTTER ON? I’D SELL HIM FOR A FUCKING BRIOCHE ROLL! UNGRATEFUL LITTLE ARSEHOLE!
He tried some though in the end. He didn’t enjoy it but he did try some… so I’ll take that as a win and try and ignore the fact that now I’ve come back to finish writing this that he’s screaming in temper again in his bed.
Fuck it, he can get on with it – I’m done.
- Looks like the weather has finally got the memo about becoming a less unreasonable arsehole
- My plants haven’t died overnight
- I have no skid marks
- In an unexpected twist of fate it turns out I’m having burger again tonight because rather than meatballs using the last of the pork mince and us both having them, Christiaan has lamb chops…. I hate lamb chops but I do love burger so nuff said
- Fucking horrific pay back due to tittish behaviour yesterday on my part
- I’ve missed out on family time – the most precious of times, even when Eli is being a git
- What’s on the menu Mellars? Unsurprisingly very fucking little hah!
- Breakfast – melon and yoghurt
- Lunch – sleep
- Dinner – burger and chips again