Caution: Contains themes of arseholery and rantage (again)

Thursday the 12th of July 2018


4 days. That’s how long I’ve been gone…..4 fucking days, and look what you’ve done to the place! BoJo’s all Eye of the Tiger about kicking Terrahawk May to the curb, the footballists taxi for “home” got lost and is now en-route to Croatia and Trump’s coming to fucking Scotland. I turn my back for 2 minutes and we’re in the middle of a full blown world-nado.

I’d love to say I was away for 4 days, and that I’ve had a “break” and a “nice rest” but I suspect you’d call me out with accusations of bullshit, and you’d be right. I’ve been trucking along at home trying to do it all (see what I did there?) and only partially succeeding at some of it. It was not a lovely time, in fact I’d go as far as to say it was fucking shite.

SO, where will I start? Well, Eli was ill on Monday and Tuesday, which as you know are my solo parenting days. I was pretty much goosed anyway but having an ill-but-not-at-deaths-door toddler (which is akin to 400 elephants high on fermented fruit at a discotheque) turned what was a pretty trying situation into a version of drunk blindfolded Krypton Factor…..for pandas. I reckon if I had been watching it on telly I would have been pissing myself laughing at the poor fucker trying to get through the day. Strangely enough when it’s your life for 2 days it’s not as bastard funny. Also, Eli is a liar. There. Said it. Whenever I asked him what was wrong he would say “don’t feel well”, OK, got that wee man, but what hurts? “my throat”, awww poor you, is your throat sore? “No”. What the fuck am I meant to do with that?

So I have no idea what was going on, we think he might have been a sore throat and we know for sure he had a higher than normal temp – close to 39 on Monday afty so I knew he wasn’t right. He had slept terribly on Sunday night, which I’m sure was in part thanks to the heat, but thinking back I actually it was the beginning of his bug – it just had terrible timing arriving on the hottest day of the year. So he was knackered, I knew that on Monday morning but he then turned overly clingy and instead of playing with his wee buds Michael and Leah he chose to cuddle in at soft play. I knew we were heading down a slippery slope so we didn’t stay long. He almost fell asleep in the car but I’ll be honest I kept shouting at him to keep him lively – danger naps fuck up real time naps in Eli land I desperately needed that hours break later on. He made it home away but cried when I suggested lunch, as in full blown hysterics so I asked to go to bed instead and he almost ran up the stairs to his room. Poor wee fucker. He passed out for about an hour an a half before getting back up again and he seemed OK, not quite right but not bad either so I thought he was maybe just a bit knackered.  He wanted to go out as soon as he got up and brought me his hat and shoes so that we could “go park Mummy”. Now I’ll be honest, it was the last thing I wanted to do, I was really struggling but he was pretty insistent… so I gave in and we went.  We lasted under half an hour; I could barely drag myself round and although he wanted to play he was really fractious and manic so I knew he wasn’t right and being out in the heat wasn’t a great idea for him. So I called time and said we were heading back to the car – he was devastated. Literally inconsolable and there is nothing like walking beside a toddler having a meltdown because he wanted to stay and play to make you feel like a fucking rotter – especially when we were primarily leaving because of me. He may have been ill but he’s a trooper and would have happily carried on regardless, albeit with bursts of tears and meltdowns…. I on the other hand was really struggling. I couldn’t lift him onto the swings, I was aware my legs were dragging a bit and I wasn’t able to follow him round all of the bits he was playing on – my 2 year old was absolutely storming through being poorly, I was definitely not.

It plays on my mind a bit that you know, our life always having to revolve around my capability at any given moment,  and I started talking to the girls on my Mums page about it last night. Not in a pity party kind of way, although I think it may have come across a bit like that – but in a pondering sort of way. There was one of these quotes things outlining different perceptions of parental failings (I’ll pop it below) and it got me thinking; I really hope that Eli remembers the fun we had at the park rather than me making him come home because I was poorly. I hope he remembers that I bought him an ice cream (even though he wouldn’t eat it) and that we laughed at the seagulls coming in for a bit of the action. I hope he remembers being on the swings, not Mummy being too tired to lift him on for the 3rd time; because in spite of the challenges of that visit, we did it. Me and him, we were both fighting different wars, but we went out. We showed our face and we did have a laugh before it was time to leave and the tears started. Look.


I always comment on how people must perceive my life to be when they look at these pics. Instagram worthy right? Well… not really. You know the reality behind them by now I hope; 25 minutes later we were home and young un was cuddling into me like a baby koala. His temp was raging, he refused to eat dinner and he was really sad; it was rotten. So after our failed park attempt we snuggled up and watched Paw Patrol until it was time for him to go to bed. I fucking hate Paw Patrol.


He was asleep for only 2 hours at night before he started crying and moaning. Now normally I’d leave him to see if he could settle himself but my spidey senses were up; they have been ever since wee Felix in his class passed away through illness just after the new year. Every time he gets sick, I get worried – not anxious, but just more bothered than I would have been normally and it means I mother him more. So I went up to see if he was OK, and I knew when I went into his room and he pretty much thew himself out of bed straight to me that he was needing a wee bit of comfort. He was also drenched through, so a change of jammas and a wee bit of calpol and we had a cuddle on his sofa until he fell asleep again in my arms. Now I know he’s an utter bell end but there is nothing more calming than watching him sleep, especially when he’s cuddled in to me. It’s one of those rare moments when I know I’m doing an alright job as a mum –  because as long as I can make him feel safe and comfy and loved he’s got all he “needs”. Maybe not everything he wants right enough, but I’ve been after calorie free cake and a lottery win for ages and managed to survive the disappointment of it never transpiring and I’m alright – he has enough, and enough is plenty.

He perked up as Tuesday wore on and we found out from his wee nursery buddy that there is indeed a bug going around – it’s landed a few of them. We had a really really quiet day spent at home except for a quick jaunt to Asda, apparently to pick a new toy and some nappy sacks up but I’d left my bastard bank card at home so the plan crumbled and we were back home within half an hour. He’s got enough bastard toys anyway, it was just going to be a new distraction to keep him entertained while I tried to “rest” after our third 4am start of the week.  By the evening he was charging around in his viking helmet, hobby horse and his sword pretending he was the Highway Rat so I was pretty confident that he was going to fucking nursery the next day.


So he did, he went in yesterday – refused his nap and poured sand all over his best friends head. I have no idea why I feel bad for cutting his park visit short when it’s clear he’s a dick.

I had great plans  to sit and write yesterday and catch up a bit but I genuinely felt like I’d had an argument with a bus. I was in bed before 8 watching telly because I was too sore to sit downstairs with Christiaan… it was a bit shit.

Now blokes, I’m going Dr Alban for a moment so if the thought of menstruation makes you want to hide inside your own foreskin for eternity jump to the next paragraph. For those of you who stuck with this paragraph; my period arrived this morning and I now know for sure that there is a very definite link between the run up to it’s arrival and how fucking awful I feel. The blog is a v handy way of me tracking how bad I am and what factors could be included (when I write it… tut) and having read back over the last few months it’s very very clear now that my period is playing a huge part in the mini crashes I’m having amidst this major crash. Without fail I have been far far worse in the 3-4 days leading up to period day 1. It’s something the doc and I have discussed before when I suggested there might be a pattern and as luck would have it,  we’ve another scheduled phone appointment on the 16th so I think it’s something I’ll be raising again. There’s been talk of a different contraceptive pill to stop my periods which would be a blessing because I can’t go for the coil because of my urology issues and I don’t want to go for the depo injection because there’s a risk my weight will go back up again.  Basically – I’m fucking awkward.

Just how awkward is yet to be seen mind, I’ve been “invited” along to an assessment so that I can prove I need the blue disability badge for parking. The irony of needing to travel to an appointment in Glenrothes, to prove I have difficulty walking before they decide whether I pay THEM £20 for the privilege of parking closer to their amenities is not lost on me. I know they must get people who ride the system a lot, but not for a blue badge surely? Benefits yes, but I’m asking them for nothing bar a piece of paper which allows me to park closer to the door of places I need to be. That’s it. I don’t want money. I don’t want a new kidney. I’m not asking to lick Tom Hardy. I want to be able to park my car by the door so that I don’t have to drag my fucking legs round like a rabid zombie for longer than I need to. Instead, I need to be “assessed” by individuals who likely don’t truly understand, or maybe even believe, in my condition. I need to convince them. Now baring in mind that not only has my Dr has diagnosed me but that I’ve also seen a neurologist, a nuerosurgeon and a general private consultant – it’s pretty unequivocal that I have M.E. I even have it writing, but will they ask for that? Do they even discuss my condition with my GP? Nope, they want to watch me walk so that THEY can decide whether I have difficulty “enough” to warrant paying for a blue badge. It’s fucking humiliating and outlines just how degrading our system is. I guess the only saving grace is that the assessment isn’t for a fortnight so I’ve got time to practise my best “woe is me” voice and posture *rolls eyes*. Fuckers.

Anyway, its not all doom and gloom is it? It’s not like our government is falling apart or that England have been booted out of the world cup have they? Ahh hold on… Coming home my arse.

You know how I feel about the Tories so you’ll not be surprised to hear me say that I give no fucks at all whether BoJo the badger fucker is in or out of our government. It makes no odds to us Scots. We didn’t vote for a Tory government, we didn’t vote to leave Europe so if he’s playing a sly game to enhance his political agenda we’ll just need to suck it up like we do everything else. I do think it’s telling that we’ve got Theresa May, Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un as some of the most powerful leaders in the world. Why couldn’t we have had Justin Trudeau or Jacinda Ardern instead? Why can’t the good guys & gals kick these fuckers into touch?

As for the footy… well to be honest… I’m gutted for Christiaan that his team didn’t get through because he wanted it so bad but, well…. Braveheart.

The end.

  • Highlights
    • Solo parenting is done and I’m on the countdown to the Friday tea time when Christiaan finishes work for a week and his parents land down to visit – I’m really looking forward to seeing them AND having some extra help
    • I made it through a really challenging few days
  •  Lowlights
    • Really really tough week so far. I’m beyond knackered and sore and I need to start my research into CBD again or be stuck feeling a bit out of control with how I manage my pain levels. Thanks to everyone who gave advice on this the other day, I’ve started looking into it!
    • Eli hasn’t been well. Nothing serious but enough that he’s been more of a challenge than normal and it’s made it incredibly hard.
  • What’s on the menu Mellars?
    • Breakfast –  Raspberries, yoghurt and wee bit of granola
    • Lunch – Left over pasta bolognaise from last night
    • Dinner  – Bean casserole… boy open that winda! It’s gonna be allllllllllllll kinds of windy in here tonight!

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.

  1. Well you’re here, so you may as well get comfy
  2. Can’t stop M.E. now…. ahmm having such a good time, ahmm tickling your balllssss!
  3. When are the grown ups coming?
  4. Major surgery…again?
  5. You’ve got to be kidding M.E.?

#mecfs #meawarenessuk #mewarrior #silentillness #swearymum #meblogging


ME Blogger extraordinaire… not really


4 thoughts on “Caution: Contains themes of arseholery and rantage (again)

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