Getting ill and trying to still be a full-time mum….
As most of us Mums know, getting ill when you have a household to run, is not an option. In fact, its impossible. Unless you are actually dead, or in a coma, you still have to get up and do your crummy, painful, groundhog day, monotonous, shitty, underpaid, “is this really my life?”, how did I age so quickly(?), job. WE GET NO BREAKS!!! We’re Mums. It comes with our thankless, shitfull (my new swear word of the month) kiss-my-arse, no one gives a crap, job.
Can you lay in bed, drinking hot lemon tea (with a shot of Whisky) and recover in peace while watching crap “E Hollywood” TV? Nope. All you can hear are your children running riot outside your bedroom door while your TWO Domestic Helpers and husband (who is gutted you’re ill for selfish reasons) chase after them screaming at the top of their lungs. What can I do, aside from step out of my bedroom, looking like the Devil himself, with tissue stuffed up my nose, eyes streaming, and a look that says “FUCK OFF”. I hide under the duvet and hope everything just goes quiet…. even 30 minutes…. 30 for fuck sake!!!?Q!
Yeh, a great way to sleep off a bad cold. I would rather be given some sort of “pain-killer” to help me doze off but as my Doctor has decided to become bloody conservative lately (maybe I pushed it asking for Morphine), I now have to buy Panadol Extra like every one else and live with the noise/toys every where/moaning husband/miserable Helpers/hairy legs that haven’t been shaved due to a runny nose. What a shame… it sucks arse.
Drug dealers are also selling aspirin/baby laxatives for coke. I’m totally destroyed as there is nothing to alleviate my pain. Being ill in a house with three small children (under the age of 2.5), a husband who resembles a cavalier teenager and two unintelligible domestic Helpers who need constant management/English language courses, getting ill is not an option.
The minute I step out of my bedroom, the chaos stops in a millisecond. Why? because I decided a loooong time ago, to rule MY household by fear. YES, fear. I’ve read my latest parenting book on my beloved Kindle and it was the only one that worked for me. The title …. “Is Beating the kids wrong/really that illegal?”
Basically it said… “DONT TAKE ANY SHIT FROM THOSE LIL’ CUTE MO’FOS!” My kids get one warning and then that’s it. “Time out”, toys taken away for the day, and basically nothing they want to do for a certain amount of time, equivalent to their age.
I don’t scream… All I say is “What a shame? What a bummer!” (American Book obviously, because us British would be saying “What the FUCK is wrong with you kid? Get to your fucking room now and piss off while I drink my can of Stella and decide what your punishment is”)). But they get it. They HATE hearing those words “What a shame” (the Captain & and I actually say it to each other now which is a bit sad but fuck it) and plus it keeps me cool (ish).
Yes they react with statements like “Nooo Mummy…no “What a shame!!” but it’s too late. One strike and your out. There I am, clucking around like Queen Bee on friggin Prisoner Cell Block H (if you don;t remember that Aussie prison show…you’re too young to be reading this) showing them how crap life can be… . It’s either that, or me going fucking mad and screaming at them to go to their rooms for “time out”…. long enough for me to open a bottle of cheap white wine (used later in the evening for a domestic fight with the Captain).
Bringing up kids is hard work people. I am basically talking and explaining things, non-stop, allll fucking day long. Do you know how mentally exhausting that is??? Talking all day to someone who doesn’t even pay you a bonus for your good work?! I HATE talking. I hate the phone for fucks sake and now I have to talk allll day long?!! To people who barely reach my hips and don’t give a shit what I’m saying. Yes, I love them to bits. BUT, they’re driving me mad. Gone are the days of lunch-hours and frivolous bar crawls.
Everything now is about teaching my kids. ie. “Dont lick the floor!!
“Why Mummy?” “Because you’ll injest crap from outside which will make you ill and will inevitably involve me having to drive you to the hospital.. which doesn’t work as ive had an afternoon drink… actually a bottle of wine” . Selfish friggin kids.
“Dont bite you sister?” “
Why? Because I said so…. you irritating fucking monkey (yes, Mummy loves you)”.
“Dont tear your books? Why? because they cost money you annoying little person who I gave life to!”
‘Dont shit on the floor.” “Why? because I’ll rip your head off if you do!! Plus,your nanny will have to clean it up while giving me that knowing, irritating look that says…”You’re his mother…you clean it up“. Yeh…right. Next I’ll be making dinner.
In Hong Kong…Not only am I now feeling and looking like complete shit, but my weight loss regime which was pretty much sorted (drinking booze, zero food and working out, the Rachel Zoe way) has gone down the shitter.
Why? Well, after being on holiday with The Captain and kids in Bali a few weeks ago…. my body (and mind) decided “Fuck it!! Enjoy yourself! Where’s my drinks bitches!!??” So … we ate loads, drank every chance we got (yes even at breakfast to fade out any noise, I screamed across a busy restaurant for a Vodka with my OJ) and those last 5 (ok 10) baby pounds crept back with a vengeance.
Not only do I have to re-start my whole workout and diet thing, but I also have to find the actual will to do it. I can’t be arsed. The only reason I’m still thinking about it is because my old clothes feel too tight and my maternity clothes are absolutely massive. Plus now I feel unwell, all i want to do is lay in bed, eat chocolate (I was never into chocolate!!??) and dream of cosmopolitans. I LOVE COSMOPOLITANS. Yes, more than wine or Vodka.
More than my kids? Somedays… So, I have discovered that to be a good writer…. you need to be honest. How does one be honest? DRINK!! I can’t see any way around it. Yes, it’s very Welsh of me but really…. to write, and be honest about what I find amusing, I have to be slightly inebriated. It’s the truth. The Captain will be horrified and not happy about this “discovery”. BUT, one must do what one must for their craft.
On a separate note, I have been having fun/fights with Helper Numero 2 in my household. The woman is driving me fucking mad. Rude? Yep. She has a look on her face sometimes that says “You drunk bitch, you should be ashamed”…sometimes… I dunno… Im too drunk sometimes. The point is… she’s really fucking annoying me. She lies about everything. She smirks. She shouts at the kids (a big No No). She irritates the shit out of me when I open a 1990 bottle of vintage vino from…. I dunno where. She laughs and jokes when the Captain is home and then scowls when its me (that alone is asking for a slap)… the list is endless. SO…. I have decided to be a complete and utter BITCH in response. It keeps our house in order and if you really knew me… you know this wouldn’t be my natural way. BUT… I live in HK so things change. Who gives a shit! anyway? I don’t know anyone well enough here to care how I react…. unless it’s the police.
Children, Twins, Triplets etc …. do you have a favourite? Ok, ok …. I SAID IT. Do Parents have favourites? Are we even allowed to say that OUT LOUD?! Now… before you all start saying “Oh no, never”, I have to ask as recently, I’ve been struggling to understand how you can’t have a favourite, from time to time anyhow.
In my own life, before I had children, I noted in almost every family, that one child was always preferred over the other. Ok, not always openly…. but you could definitely see it. To be fair, it didn’t really seem to bother the boys as much as the girls. The Captain for example is the favourite in his family. He claims he’s not, but he sooo is (plus his Grandma recently told me). I on the other hand, was never the favourite. For starters, I was causing havoc in my parents house, getting expelled from school, raiding their Drinks cabinet, smoking spliff out the bedroom window, having boyfriends climbing up drain pipes and sleeping in my cupboard until my Mum found him the next day reeking of Cider (true). All of this before I was 15 years old…. it’s no wonder they wanted to kill me. As a baby though…. i was apparently an independent angel. But, still not the favourite.
I’m now torn from time to time with my own kids. Despite all resolutions to never have favourites, things aren’t panning out that way. Now, according to some books on Twins (and I read a shit load before Itchy & Scratchy turned up), Parents get confused as to how they react and feel towards their kids. Some days they have a favourite child, and on other days, well, lets just say you want to run away and hide under a tree (or in a Bar, which is clearly my personal preference).
Anyhow, my question is this …. Do you have a favourite? If so, do you feel as guilty as I do when those moments occur? Now, before you all start going mad at me, the truth is this…. my favourite child is the one who behaves themselves on THAT particular day. I don’t love the other child any less but if they are misbehaving, well, you know… you’re only human.
Take my Son for example. He loves to SCREAM (& I mean SCREAM!!!!) and, in fact, screamed the whole way to Bali (4.5 hour flight from Hong Kong), that even his own Grandparents wanted to throw him off the plane. This child knows when he has an audience and therefore, kicks off with this whole screaming business just as everyone around us is starting to relax/enjoy a book/snooze on the plane. What did I do to keep myself calm and not lose it? I put ear plugs in, plastered a smile on my face at all the passengers who looked like they wanted to kill me for having given birth to Satan, and ordered myself a glass of white wine. The bloody Air Stewards wouldn’t give me another glass after I downed the first one like it was a shot of tequila…. so I stole The Captains while he hid in the loo…. for most of the flight. Apparently he had a dodgy tummy but I know a liar when I see one. Hell, I would have hidden in there with him if someone would have taken my son off my hands.
Yes, kids cry and yes, they also get jealous of their siblings. My son keeps trying to poke his sisters eyes out and she has now started biting anything and everything, including The Captains legs (which made me laugh so much the other day, I actually peed on the floor). But, by having a favourite every so often, doesn’t negate how much I love them both, equally. I just have less tolerance for the annoying one from time to time. Yes, I just said that out loud. But, all mothers experience this surely?!?
Please don’t turn up with burning torches outside my apartment until you have experienced Twins screaming, biting and blatantly trying to kill their mother through lack of sleep.
I also know all about the issues that arise when favouritism occurs in a household. Having come from a family where I have (a) Middle child syndrome, (b) Am the only girl, which is a minus in my books and never led to “Little Princess syndrome” – a damn shame as everyone else in the house got bought a car on their 18th birthday, save for me.
In fact, I was sooo NOT the favourite, that my parents took their first photos of me when I was about 6 months old, and even then, they only took TWO photos until I turned ONE. My Mum claims its because I was bald and didn’t look great in photos. I’m like“errr…. I was a BABY?!” She also claims not to have had a camera. What a crap reason is that?! No camera?! I wasn’t born during the 1920’s for fucks sake!! Plus, to add insult to injury, my older brother had hundreds of photos of him from the minute he was born, including video footage actually exiting the womb and hes 5 years older than me. Speaking of which, my not-so-Saintly older brother, who had a whole shrine dedicated to his birth, first hair curl, first tooth, endless photos of him on the potty … bla bla bla, tried to convince me (even to this day) that I was, in fact, adopted. I would believe this ordinarily, considering I am soooo different to my family in almost every way, but I look exactly like both my parents (minus my Dad’s beard). I have to admit, that there were many a moment as I child, when I dreamt (and prayed) for my real parents to show up and whisk me away to their mansion in Miami (where I was the only child, accidentally switched at birth by some gross accident made by the Hospital).
Now…. during arguments with my Mother, never my Father who (a) never had any favourites and (b) resembles a squidgy, kind Teddy bear so you can’t really argue with him in any event, I will throw the whole “You always favoured that ungrateful git (my older brother) over me!!!” Mum would respond, “Dont be stupid…. I hate you all the same” (I’m one of four). Bloody lovely (and clearly mindful of all our feelings). Now my Mum says she doesnt and never did have favourites, but you know what, my brothers have all screwed up soo much lately, my Dad (bless him), keeps banging on about how“great” I am. Its pissing my brothers off soo much and FINALLY, I am the favourite.
It only took moving to another country to make them see that.
So far, the holiday has gone a little better than expected, (a) Mum-in-law thinks we are actually mum n daughter which makes life loads easier and to be fair… I’m fucking easy peasy to get on with (b) I keep getting Mum-in-law drunk…. something I forgot I kept doing when we were back in London.
It turns out… I’m a friggin genius at turning people into drinkers…. even for the night. I’m like the cheeky female Devil on your shoulder that says “Go on, just one more…bottle!” Works like a Gem every time!
Plus, I hate drinking alone and I LOVE banter with women. We have soo much fun when blokes/men leave us alone to have a giggle. This is a FACT and a reason why, up until I turned 30 yrs old (yes, 30.. a couple or so years ago…), I never had boys, save for my best male friends who are pretty much gay anyway, even if they are in denial and chasing tits ‘n arse everywhere, at any birthdays. I recall one friend of mine saying she never, ever laughs, like she does with the girls.
Its true. My Best friend made me laugh soooo much once. We were 14 years old and had just been to some dingy, feet sticking to the carpet, basement, back street “Disco” in Ealing, South London. We ended up in a random flat (d0nt ask) but she made me laugh sooooooo much, I wet myself. We woke the following morning with my stupidly long socks (they covered my Fk-me-boots) drying on a radiator of some half-way house for ex-convicts (I lie not!!!). This made me laugh again. I was greeted at 6am by a big black guy called “Jim” in the loo, smoking a massive spliff. I was soo unsure whether to run or stop for a chat (he seemed interesting and actually quite funny…. probably trying to decided whethere to kill me or not). I ask her (my best gal that is), even to this day, what the hell were we doing there?!!? She and I have a place, where stories can only be told where the participants are present are the only ones who know what happened. We laugh so much, even now. I love that.
Ok… thats me for now. Will I be this kind of cool/chilled/go out & shag ’em parent? When Itchy (my daughter) comes home from “Space” in Ibiza and says she got so pissed /fuckedshe woke up in a Monastary surrounded by wanking locals who are meditating while smoking giant spliffs full of mind spanking skunk (I love it, sorry but I do) … what do I do?!
I’ll tell you exactly what I would do (aside from confiscate the drugs for my own personal enjoyment… yes, I’m gonna be a kill-joy Mum too. Shoot me but I dont give a shit). Firstly, find this place and secondly, go live there forvever. Thats when The Captain takes over as our staff will have long gone by then (unless I have another 2 which I keep threating at the moment…. I think I’ve got mild amnesia from the 2 epi’s the Dr’s administered when I gave birth!)
Hope you are all well out there girls!
Ladies, ladies, ladies….. now before I sound like a right old, ungrateful, spoilt, ex-pat cow… please listen to the evidence below and then pass your own judgements. I stand by everything I say though.
Am I the ONLY woman in the world who finds it the MOST stressful thing to do, when I have to pack for a long holiday with 15 month old Twins?! I mean, Itchy & Scratchy are STILL not eating solids properly (well…unless you count those Organix Carrot sticks which cover anything/everything in orange. Or those Hard Teething biscuits which have potential for choking). Therefore, what do I have to do EVERY bloody g-d damn holiday?!? I have to go and buy soooo much fucking food/nappies/wipes to last the flight and whole trip. For the record, I usually cook ALL the kids food, ALL OF IT, from scratch. They’ve just got a taste for lamb which I’ll add to the recipe file as it works without all the sugar etc you, apparently, sometimes need to entice the little buggers.
On a separate note, I want to kill myself from the stress of packing/shopping/packing some more and making bloody boring endless lists of shit to make sure I forget nothing. *NB. For those potentially suicidal types, I only mean this in a general sense, so please don’t go doing anything stupid and claim I should be held liable.
Anyhow, the baby food in Hong Kong is NOT cheap…. in fact, it’s a bloody piss take in how much they increase the price of everything. I have to still use my currency converter otherwise, I’d be buying Hipp Organic Milk for £20. Its definitely not like at home, where you pop into Tescos and buy 5 Organix jars of baby food and get 5 free, on special, for like £4.99.
Everything in Hong Kong is expensive and all I spend money on at the moment, is food for the kids (ok… and a lil bitty itty bit of booze for Mamma). Well that and a Helmet for Itchy called a “Thudguard” as she keeps falling face down while walking and scaring the living shit out of me.
FYI, this Thudguard was delivered to me within a day and is the best thing I’ve ever bought my daughter as she is bloody nuts and bangs into everything. Unlike her overly cautious Twin brother who acts about 80 years old and will not let himself get hurt in any way.
Anyhow, I especially HATE shopping in general (unless I’m ordering my clothes online with Asos…. who I love & they deliver to my door without faffing around big stores). Yesterday, I spent over 3 hours (yes, 3 frigin, bloody long, painful hours), wandering around Ap Lei Chau‘s “Bumps to Babes”, buying baby food, swim nappies, Teething granules, Teething gels, mossie cream/bands/patches, new sleeping bags and other crap I suddenly realised the kids needed. I then bought myself some extra strength Panadol, en route home… which I downed with Vodka. Hey, its fine…. the kids weren’t with me in the car, and in my mind, driving off a cliff would have been a bonus yesterday.
The Captain, however, simply CAN NOT get his head around the amount of shit we have to take. He’s like “err…. all my friends go on holiday with their kids and they never have any problems?!? CHILL OUT”. CHILL OUT?! ARE YOU KIDDING, MR, “Domestic Helper please pack my case”?! He is a MAN. They pretend they “understand” and “feel your pain” (“White Men can’t Jump” also has a lot of shit to answer for). I dont care. I work hard every day, just like Captain and he would go FUCKING INSANE doing what I do. E V E R Y D AY. But, we are meant to be, what?! Superhuman women?! I’m tired. I get guiltily bored girls too. I want to be with the kids, but also without. How does this shit work?! I call my Mum and sometimes, shes all 1970’s hard “Get a Grip!” and other times, she tells me “ohh… I was soo upset, I left you with our alcoholic nanny who worked at Dad’s restaurant and went back to Iran for a few months because I was homesick”. Thanks. So, we are never going to get it totally right, BUT, I’ll be damned if our kids turn out like my Husbands family (he thinks they’re perfect in comparison to mine), nor do I ever want my parent’s life on them. Lets pull our shit together. Its called Evolution. We grow over our own parents, because we accumulate knowledge. Its how the world works.
I have 2 problems with this unbelievably ignorant/ungrateful/typical 1950’s Dad, comment. Firstly, none of his mates EVER bought or packed sod all for any of their holidays abroad with their kids, who were all usually a few years apart in age. In fact their wives used to scare the shit out of me (before we had our Twins) saying, “same daily routine, different location, except the Husband demands more sex”.
Secondly, NONE of his lucky mates, have Twins with acute/silent Reflux and our Twins can still puke all over you at any given time. In fact, my daughter recently did a nice big milk puke while we were sat at that über cool Bar on South Beach where everyone is all “Hi, yeh, hi…look at my toned non-baby baring arse, tummy, 20-year-old thighs”… while they play anything from Cafe del Mar, to Dance music.
So, I sat there covered in my daughters puke and while The Captain laughed at me in this super cool/bar/cafe, wearing his annoying fucking Aviators (Top Gun has a lot to answer for, aside from Scientology) …. I pulled off my top and revealed a very skimpy vest top beneath. You gotta be prepared as a Mum of Twins after all …. even if it means layering your clothes to save space in the baby bag.
And you know what girls…. before the twins… I was one hot mutha (and in my mind, I always will be… even if I never was!). I have the confidence to knock any wanker off their feet that tells me I can’t do what I want, when I want or chose. I’m not saying I’m ANYTHING amazing. It’s the attitude of those arrogant bastard men, that I walk around with. I think I’m better!!! Wrong or right, who cares but i will never ever let my girl/boy destroy anyone on this kind of bullshit appearance crap. If you have faith & believe in yourself, let go of any potential “oooh… Im too fat/skinny/ugly/wotever” crap. If you feel great… live it. I do and I’m not an arrogant arse. I’ve just had so many years of fab therapy with someone who told me… “it’s not you, its them” + I’m not talking about Men. I cleaned the floor with any Man who tried to top me. The captain included. I love that. Anyhow, during the puking incident, The Captain laughs, then turns to me and says, “errr… babe… your boobs are very revealing in that top. Cover up?!” I didn’t of course …. his eyes we fixated. I want his eyes… RIGHT ON ME. I’m not putting that top on, even if Jesus suddenly appeared.
Anyhow, all of The Captains comments alone made me want to fucking hit him with Itchy’s new Havaiana flip flops in baby size 19 (yes, I bought my daughter some super cool flip-flops …. along with some sunnies, Baby Banz today).
So now, here’s the question for some of you Mums who want to kill your Partners before you go on holiday with them, and they utter those fucking annoying tomes “CHILL OUT”. Pack lots and lots and lots of Valium, unless you have the balls to smuggle other things in via certain orifices I can’t name for legal reasons. Then, arrive, book into the spa and spank that bastard Credit Card until it hurts him. I’m soo good at NOT doing that, but my word, recently…. It’s the only place that seems to hurt him/any man.
Our new place of destination is, Bali. My new friend/girl crush, Parental Parody, if you are reading this…. any advice/suggestions on how NOT to harm my hubby (or his family…. who I will never match or be above) would be much appreciated and noted.
I’m sure we will all have a swell time together. Me, the Twins, in-laws & extra family joining us. Can’t bloody wait. Joy.
ps. YES IM FUCKING UNGRATEFUL but… I’ve had terrible insomnia again girls and its killing my writing buzz (which is the only thing keeping me sane on this Island, that is Hong Kong). Shame…. I still see myself back in freezing, shitty cold, taxing London. But at least, I was never alone.