Monday the 28th of May 2018
It’s happened. I’ve become middle aged. I mean, I’ve known it was coming for a while what with my growing adoration for elasticated clothing and comfy footwear but I thought it would be a slow and graceful evolution rather than what turned out to be a very disappointing wet fart. I was looking forward to some sort of beautiful mature butterfly emerging but no, I still look like Aunt Sally, only with less make up and worse hair. See, I realised I had hit middle age this afternoon. I turned to my beaut of a husband and uttered words that I can never, ever take back: “I love looking at the flowers on that petunia and those pansies, they’re just stunning”. Fuck my actual life. Now I KNOW there are those of you looking perplexed and thinking “Well there’s not much wrong with appreciating the beauty of nature you miserable cow” and you’re right, there’s not; except this is new for me. I’ve never been that arsed with flowers or how the garden looked; to me a garden was only every utilised for social drinking and eating. The fact that I can do that while ENJOYING what I’m looking at has literally, blown my mind. I guess you *could* say it was a sign of how little I have in life, in fact you might feel sorry for me as you’re sat there in your jammas drinking your tea. Don’t though. Honestly, it’s surprising me as much as it’ll probably be surprising you for me to admit this but….. I’m kind of enjoying it. I go round the garden every day checking what needs dead heading and what needs a bit more water, or attention and it’s gentle on my brain and my body, and it’s rewarding when the vastly over priced weeds start responding by jizzing rainbow colours all over my garden. I can kind of see what Monty Don has been banging on about all these years but before you get all worried for me; unfurl your brow, I suspect this will be a short lived passion, I’m fickle like that. I’ll not be turning into Charlie Dimmock any time soon; my jugs are too big for a start, they need all the support they can get.
There are other tell tale signs n all though you know. Christiaan and I made it to Dobbies this morning to meet Dawny, her mum, and the twins and for the first half an hour or so it was blissfully quiet with just our three tottering around enjoying each others company… but then… “the other people” arrived. I’ve mentioned how little time I have for other peoples kids outside of my own circle before but it’s never more apparent than when I’m out and there’s LOADS of fucking things pushing and shouting. For a kick off I have no patience at the best of times for cheeky, rude, or pushy kids but right now I can’t actually cope with the noise either. Not just in a “oh my days it’s so noisy in here” kind of way, but in a way that makes me feel pretty confused and shaky. Now don’t get me wrong, Eli is not a quiet child, in fact the only time he shuts his mouth is when he’s sleeping and even then he’s been known to sing in his sleep, but I’m so used to hearing him I can deal with it… well mostly, there are times Christiaan see’s the signs and has to navigate him away from me but generally I can cope OK. Other people’s kids on the other hand; well to me, it sounds like a night out in a spinning metal drum with a bunch of morris dancers (what a fucking night that would be by the way). It’s too loud, all jumbled, too sharp and too brash… and well… after nearly an hour the noise had increased so much that I needed to go because my brain felt like it was going to blow is load. Eli had morphed from angel child to absolute dick by that point anyway; not because he’s intolerant like me, but because, well…. actually, fucked if I know to be honest, I think he’d just had enough so we decided to call it a day. We’d had a nice morning though, it’s a grand way to spend an hour – its lovely watching my wee one and D’s two together… I can’t explain it but when you have a cracking friendship it’s important and lovely to see it extend to our families. I got my coffee and a cheese scone while catching up with my some of my favourite people, Christiaan got a cracking bit of cake after a disappointing breakfast (shame on you Dobbies, your bacon was grey… dirty bastards) and Eli got to choose some sparkly cake too which was bribery to stop him being and out and out twat (I could see him spiralling). I also ran into some friends I hadn’t seen for probably about 9/10 years and had that sort of awkward exchange I’ve written about before; the one where they can tell something isn’t quite right but they’re thrown by the fact I’ve dropped loads of weight and also, at the minute, have quite a healthy tan because I’m outside so much. So I look on the face of it healthy but I’m dragging my legs and looking unkempt. I said hello, gave them a hug but then made my excuses; I just didn’t want to get into it this morning. They’ll work it out I’m sure and if it’s you I’m talking about and you’ve gone onto my Facebook page to try and find out what my beef was; I’m sorry for being too wank to explain, I hope you now get it.
It’s a bit of an ongoing battle I have, some days I want to bang the drum for awareness and other days I just kind of crave for it all to fuck off and try to ignore it. This week might be a bang the drum sort of week mind, because I *might* be going on a local radio show. Not local to here right enough; it’s off of Solihull. A friend of mine tagged me in a call out from a local DJ who’s covering a piece on M.E. I’ll be 100% honest; when he first mentioned going on the show my first thought was “fuck no” because I’m no expert, and I’m definitely not someone who could stand up and say they represent the masses – I’m too sweary and inappropriate for a start but I’m also not the worst out there, and I’m shitting myself about misrepresenting something so important…. but… I was gutted to miss the Millions Missing event in Edinburgh because it was a chance to do SOMETHING and I can’t be going on and on about raising awareness then turning into a shy 5 year old when I get the chance. So I’ll do it and I’ll try to do it as well as I can. I’ve no idea of the details just yet but when I do, I’ll let you know on the Facebook page.
This all kind of unravelled this afternoon while we were, wait for it: IN THE GARDEN (obvs). I was wiped out after this morning but D, stop worrying, I wasn’t great before we headed out to be honest. I needed a fuck tonne of painkillers to settle my bones and my head but didn’t want to take anything until I got back for fear of turning into a jellied mess when I was there. So we chilled out while my drugs kicked in and it was relaxed and just what I needed until Eli announced he would like to “Do a poo in the toilet”. FINALLY, a sign that he was considering potty training hooooray! It was all stations go as we fetched the potty, got his trousers off and undid his nappy. Christiaan and I stood there all excited and wondered if this was it; the beginning of the end of nappies but alas it turns out he’s a tiny tiny fucking liar. He had no intention of entertaining ANYTHING on that bastard potty, in fact he as adamant that he’d not even look at it after the first glance – he was playing us. Fine, whatever wee man, I’m not arsed – you sit in your own shite all you like. We left it really relaxed and let him mess around in the garden without his nappy, getting the wind round his tiny balls and asking every now and then if he needed to piss, which of course was always met with a very definite no. After an hour he still didn’t need to go but was getting to the stage where he was wrestling with Christiaan and teabagging him so he took him indoors to let me get on with writing, get a nappy back on him and and let them both watch some Paw Patrol. Turns out he did need a piss though, he just needed to have it stood up against the coffee table in the living room while Christiaan was fetching him a nappy. Cock.
*Gasp* “did you just show your childs arse on the internet? What about the paedophiles?” Yes I did. We’ve all got an arse, even a paedophile knows that. Also, I refuse to taint Eli’s childhood with fear; I don’t put a bag on him in the supermarket so no one sees him and I’m not covering his tiny arse either. If Eli has a problem with his arse being on the internet when he’s older then we’ll discuss it and the obvious correlation to pissing on the furniture.
The last trek of the day on a Monday, as always, is fat club. I decided to go to my normal later class rather than the 3.30 one, it’s quieter and less queue mental plus, it gave me an extra two hours to lose 12 stone. So I strode in, not knowing quite what way it would go and promising myself I’d not be too fucked off if it wasn’t good news. It’s a conversation I have with myself every week. Not because I eat badly, in fact I’ve been immaculate all week but that generally means nothing, as I’ve said before my body burns energy in a weird way so it stands to reason that normal rules don’t apply when I attempt to lose the flab. This week though I shifted 3 pounds which I’m chuffed with; I could feel the difference in some of my clobber so I knew at the very least I’d lost inches but to see it on the scales is a massive boost. So, that’s 3 stone 4 in total and I’m celebrating with a chippy tea *sigh* ….once a fatty always a fatty. They need signs in all the takeaways like the ones I saw on our community Facebook page last night – warning about feeding the gulls.
I’ve not broke the news to Davie and Agnes that they’re about to be starved out of town yet but given they kept my awake until midnight last night committing acts of brutal murder against various crustaceans, fish and possibly the elderly, I can’t think they’ll be that arsed. To be honest, if they wanted what we were eating they’d just take it – I’ve seen many a bald man robbed of his fish supper from the chippy when the gulls are hungry. They’re bold, and they also can’t read so a sign is going to do fuck all good to stop the “mess”. I’m not sure if you’ve clocked it, but I did – the word “costly” has been pasted over whatever was there originally. My bets are on “fucking” but they’ll be too posh round here to say that in public without using that nasally voice that’s suppose to take the edge off the swear but makes you sound like you’re partially deaf. I also love that they’re referring to what are fondly known as flying rabid dogs as as “winged menaces” on the red sign… it’s like calling Vladimir Putin a very naughty boy. Aye good luck with that…. watch your chips.
- 3lb off which I’ll take
- Smashin morning seeing D and the crew; I’ve got some lovely pics but I’m always wary of sharing when the faces don’t belong to me!
- Eli has napped hooooorayyyyyy!
- Chippy Tea – ya dancer
- I struggled quite a bit today with pain and brain traffic; not quite full on brain fog level but just not processing as much or as quickly as I should be and I felt it
- Tomorrow is a lone parenting day, I’ve got my folks in the morning and a friend coming in the afty…. wish me luck
- What’s on the menu Mellars? Write off my darlin, it’s weigh in day
- Breakfast – a slice of toast with nutella
- Lunch – A cheese scone and butter
- Dinner – A chippy tea
- Back on it tomorrow…. 3.5 stone is calling me
Are you new round here?
If you’ve just stumbled across TryingToDoItAll and have no bastarding idea what’s going on you should probably go back and read a few blogs from the beginning. Don’t panic, I won’t ask you to read them all, but these few posts will help explain. Oh stop sighing, it’ll only take you a few minutes. Fucks sake.
- Well you’re here, so you may as well get comfy
- Can’t stop M.E. now…. ahmm having such a good time, ahmm tickling your balllssss!
- When are the grown ups coming?
- Major surgery…again?
- You’ve got to be kidding M.E.?
#mecfs #meawarenessuk #mewarrior #silentillness #swearymum