Well, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been sat at the Ol’ Mac, rambling away. Even longer since I could check my analytics and see how far flung my blog is reaching. Thanks dudes for taking the time to read my shiz. I haven’t really written since I opened up in my “couldn’t give this post a title” blog. Man I blubbed like a beast after that one. One because of all the pent up feelings I had about the conception game. (Worst. Show. Ever. I definitely would not have binge watched that boxset), feelings though, that really needed to come out, because they were making mine and Hubz life really unbearable. (OK, I was making Hubz life unbearable, tomatoe tomatoe). The mood swings were real people. And yes I take pics of myself when I’m happy and sad, you just never see the sad ones on my insta.
I didn’t realise how supportive people were, BFFs, people I went to uni with and lost touch with, facebook friends, internet strangers, all reached out to tell me it was ok to feel like shit, own it and keep going. I got into a hot bath, poured a glass of Prosecco and cried like I hadn’t cried before. I mean I sobbed, dammit, I ugly cried. Like so hard, I would have won a BAFTA and an Oscar. I went to bed with such a headache. I don’t know if it was from the tears, the bottle of fizz or all the trapped words in my brain finally tumbling out, but it was the first night that I slept, a real unconscious heavy sleep that when I woke up, I was confused where I was. I actually remember getting my barings, turning over and telling Hubz “I’m done now, this is too hard, I want to be old me now”.
And I meant it… but I didn’t mean it. Not even a little. But it’s like when you’ve been on a series of really terrible dates with the same guy because the options are so dire, and he’s horrid to you so tell yourself, “I’m over this guy, I’m not going to text him any more, look I’ve deleted his number” whilst driving past his house to check if he’s in so you can accidentally bump into him, knowing his number is written on a piece of paper in your sock drawer for you to use next time you’ve had one cheap cocktail too many. (Not me… I know a friend of a friends Aunt’s Uncle’s Sister who did it… swear down).
And with my new, GAS* mentality proceeded to crack on with life. Luckily work went mental, visits from the big O, a flood that left me up to my ankles in freezing water until a plumber could arrive an hour and a half after one of my lively lovelies had broken a water main pipe and other general feral behaviour bought on by England somehow peeing off mother nature to the extent that she sent snowstorms that were crippling the nation every few days. And nothing gets more crippled during the snow then the school system. The first few snow days were fun, the second round was tiresome and the third round were quite frankly a monumental pee take and a massive ballache. And with each round of dealing with the kids in school, closing the school, snow that wouldn’t leave the site, trying to stop them making ice balls, trying to keep staff moral up (because no-one wants to work when there’s snow outside, especially when your work is to be trapped with kids inside all day that want to get outside to attack you with snow. Its S’no Fun peeps ).
I was getting more tired, ill and drained.
I love the snow, it usually invigorates me. A fresh blanket covering the imperfections that lies beneath; but this snowstorm I could barely get out of bed, let alone pale a snow ball into hubz’ shower.
I don’t know why I did it, because I wasn’t due on, and I was a week before I would usually put myself through the trauma, but…. I took a test
And that was Four months ago….
*Give A Shit