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.
So, now I’ve admitted to being pregnant (even to myself), I appear to have lost my ability to write…. anything. It’s like my brain has shut down because it’s pissed off with me for being so careless. Or maybe all the blood is now pumping elsewhere which would explain why I keep forgetting things (can I smell smoke?). So…..who loved, or loves, being pregnant? I mean, its ok to say (or scream) “NOT ME!!!’ Its boring too!! There’s nothing to do!! I can’t friggin drink when I want, take Magic Mushrooms or do any kind of acid. It’s no wonder we need to sit at home “nesting”. We’re bored shitless so we start organising all our cupboards. It’s not because we’re nesting. Its to keep our minds off partying until Baby comes (or is that clearly just me?). What else are you going to do with your time for fucks sake?! Knit!? Give the Husband blow-jobs to whittle away your days? Sod that. I’m going to cry, moan and be a bitch. I can’t help it though…. it’s my hormones.
This time round, not only was I soooo shocked when I found out, I’d been drinking up a storm and trying to set some sort of world record for how many units a woman of my size and teeny weeny stature could get through. When the Doctor told me I was “with child”, my reaction was less than maternal. In fact, I was a little livid and delirious with resentment. How was I going to have a drink & smoke now? What the hell was going on!? We were just starting to get our lives back and feel normal again. The Twins were becoming a little more self-sufficient ie. can eat with their fingers now. Our days of sleepless nights were starting to narrow and we knew Kindergarten was just around the corner (freedom for me!). So…. on hearing that I had to go back to square one and deal with shitty nappies, puking on everything, preparing bottles, sterilizing everything, waking every 3 hours to do night feeds, getting to know my new baby and all that comes with him/her…. I was not impressed. At all.
Also, the first time I was pregnant was through IVF. That pregnancy was not only planned but something we’d dreamed of. This time, I’m like a pissed-off London teenager (without the rioting), desperate for a drink and some party time. Also with twin 1.5 year olds running around the house non-stop, there is no time for rest, ever. The last line was drawn today when our Helper commented to me with a sweet smile on her face, “Maam, you are fat”. I should have fired her on the spot but of course, I can’t live without her at the moment. I mean, who the fuck would watch the kids while I’m napping? That’s the other things which is also pissing me off. I’m in the in-between stage where people don’t know if you’ve suddenly got fat, or are pregnant. It’s really annoying me. I’d rather just have the belly now, or not at all. This stage makes things awkward as everyone’s left wondering why your tummys protruding, plus I’m surrounded by pregnant women (half my apartment block has knocked up angry-looking women in it. I think there’s something in the water) at the moment and this is causing “bump envy”. Most are a few weeks more pregnant than I but look HUGE. I want that bump just so people know I am in fact pregnant and not just had pasta for lunch (which lets face it, I did. And at breakfast. hey, I’m pregnant. fuck off).
So what joys have I experienced thus far? Here’s a little list of complaints (those of you who are expecting may recognise some of them):-
My Husband, “The Captain”, is pissing me off constantly. In fact, I’m sooo angry with him that I apparently woke him in the middle of the night last week and told him (I have to quote this) “I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS”, before going back to sleep. I don’t remember any of it (for all I know he could be lying) but it sure does sound like me at the moment. Why am I soo angry with him? Hormones? I don’t think so. i think my subconscious is pissed off with his sperm for impregnating me at the worst possible time. Plus it’s his fucking fault we are now in this position! If he hadn’t insisted on marital sex (we had been doing Vodka Jelly shots the night of the immaculate conception BTW), we would be living a quiet happy alcoholic life with toddlers growing into little kindergarteners and I could focus on drinking in peace, while writing.
Everyone is pissing me off. Everyone. Everything. Argh…..I saw a ladybird yesterday and screamed at it for landing on my windscreen. I then burst into tears because I’m a fucking nutbag pregnant bird.
Farting. Non stop stinky farting. It’s actually becoming a problem in small spaces, and while queuing at the supermarket. If you ever see me in a lift, I suggest you wait for the next one unless you want to die by fume inhalation. The Captain, a professional Farter, is actually sooo disgusted, he sometimes cries before leaving the room (from the stench, not emotion).
Headaches that are constant. These headaches are actually the worst part of being pregnant (aside from gradually turning into a mini elephant). I had them last time and they’re getting worse. This makes me even angrier and more of a bitch than normal. Plus, you can’t take ANY fucking drugs that actually work, to sort these damn headaches out. What am I left with? PARACETEMOL (pointless if you ask a hardcore pill taker like myself) and cold patches for my forehead. I may as well strap ice to my head with a tea towel, sing to the moon and dance around a fire to make the pain go. God is definitely a Man. Bastard.
Nothing fits me and I don’t have enough maternity wear. It’s really winding me up when I open my cupboard and nothing fits anymore. If I have to borrow the Captain’s jeans again this pregnancy, I think I will kill myself. I’m determined to keep the weight gain to a normal amount this time. No more eating for 4 excuses and no more triples dinners and snacks. I’m not talking about pregorexia but seriously, how the fuck did that stylist Rachel Zoe stay soooo skinny while pregnant?! her arms were like sticks for crying out loud. As for Victoria Beckham…. well, I like her actually, so I’m not going to bad mouth her. Aside from saying, how the fuck did she stay sooo well maintained during her pregnancy (ok, yes, aside from the millions, private chef and personal preener to keep her looking good at all times). I currently feel like shit. When my skinny jeans don’t fit me. this makes me feel worse and then I decide the only thing to do is scream obscenities at the Captain. Everythings his fault anyhow (I blamed the weather on him yesterday).
I want to moan non-stop about anything. What the fuck’s that all about? I was soo chilled and happy last time I was pregnant. This time, I’m like a stereotypical hormonal crazy pregnant woman. Oh, and I cry about everything. Everything. The toothpaste ran out this morning and I blubbered away for about 20 minutes. I then cried some more in the car when I saw an advert for Pampers on the back of a van. I think I threw a can of beans at it while driving. I’m angry clearly.
Pro’s of pregnancy:
1. As a lifelong sufferer of insomnia, I’m actually tired by 9pm every night. Another reason why I can’t write for shit as this was my sacred time to crack open some wine bottles (unless I’d had an all day drinking session) and write. Now, I can’t keep my eyelids open long enough to watch E! Hollywood (I’m missing vital story lines for the Kardashians).
2. Oh and I’m creating a life. Yes, I do know this and I’m not being an ungrateful bitch. I’m having a moan (read above complaints if you’ve forgotten or already switched off with boredom).
Therefore my apologies in advance for any shitty scripture that is thrown your way over the next few months. I’m clearly not high on anything at the moment which has challenged my fantastic writing abilities (I’m also wanking non-stop which is making me go blind. joke), although that will all change once I pop this sprog out. In the meantime, I will have to deal with the shame of writing about crap until then.
It’s all the Captains fault. Him and his damn happy Penis.
* Photo above taken of The Grand Canyon, USA, while in a Helicopter…trying not to be air sick.
Last week I met a group of gals to discuss the pro’s and cons of Tummy tucks (as well as other surgery from boob jobs to Botox), for Mum’s of Multiples (or in my case…. TWINS!)
One Mum has just had a full tummy tuck with a scar that stretches from one side of her tummy to the other, and resembles, in my opinion, a smile (ironic too considering that’s what I’d be doing after such a fab piece of plastic surgery).
After nearly 6 weeks, she is fully recovered and unbelievably happy. And so she should be, considering her tummy was stretched beyond belief during her pregnancy. Both her Twins weighed well over 7.5 pounds!!! I mean…. fuck!!! She could barely walk into the hospital when she gave birth. She also had a 7 centimetre gap between her stomach muscles from where her body had been stretched so much. When I spoke to her, she’d just bought her first bikini in 5 years and was bouncing off the walls with happiness (hell, I’m surprised she didn’t turn up wearing a bikini… I would have with those results).
Now, my twins were almost full-term at 38 weeks, which is apparently pretty impressive in the world of Multiple births as the norm can be anything from 32 weeks onwards. Given my small size at the time, all and sundry expected me to go into very early labor. This did not happen and I got progressively larger by the minute. I was even putting on weight while I slept and at one point, I was convinced I must be sleep-walking into the fridge every night. I mean, by the time I gave birth by elective C-section (like I was gonna even attempt that “naturally”…. what am I fucking stupid?!!) I was MASSIVE. I had gained FIVE STONE in weight. FIVE STONE PEOPLE!??!
It’s no wonder the Captain didn’t want to have sex anymore … although I did try it on all the time like a teenage boy would. And I do mean, A LOT (no one tells you how horny pregnancy makes you, especially if you are carrying a boy, but apparently its their hormone in your body). Which actually explains why they all walk around looking for sex the whole time… hmmmm…. I mean… in hindsight, I was like one giant penis trying to get laid at every opportunity. It’s no wonder men wank constantly…
Anyhow, back to being a huge obese pregnant woman, I was soo big, I had to have TWO epidural due to the amount of fluid in my body. I couldn’t lie flat in bed either as I would faint from the pressure the kids put on my internal organs (even during hospital scans, I had to be almost upright towards the end, or I would faint). I mean, twins, or more…. its hardcore from day one. Even before they pop out, they’re giving you an insight into your new life. One would be awake all night inside my tummy while the other slept during the day.
I would wear those headphones you can get while pregnant, at night to listen to them sometimes and I swear my son was building something with all the banging inside my tummy. My daughter would start partying a little later…. hopefully something she wont continue to do as a teenager. She already looks like me but, acting like me will be a nightmare… I was expelled from one school in London alone for “not working enough & having parties at my house”. This was news to my Mum at the time when she met the Headmistress of my school “to discuss my options” …. I had to pretend the Head had dementia and had been gunning for me from day one (a complete lie of course but I couldn’t let my parents know that’s where all their booze was going from the “Drinks Cabinet”in their lounge, which BTW, had a lock on it!)
Anyhow, if I thought for one second I was going to attempt natural birth during my pregnancy …. I don’t think I would have been walking around as happy as I was (the Captain loved me preggars BTW as I was sober the whole time & couldn’t stand the smell of wine….) And despite looking like a small elephant (who had eaten two children), I thoroughly enjoyed the whole pregnancy thing.
That said, Itchy & Scratchy not only did a great job on stretching what used to be a washboard stomach you could literally bounce coins off (The Captain LOVED my tummy). They also screwed up my hips (I was a very small size 6/8 UK), I had carpal tunnel in both hands/wrists (constant sensation of tingling which was horrible when trying to drive/cook), and the fucking headaches/migraines were a killer, especially when you can’t take anything more than a pointless paracetamol tablet (useless on someone like me in any event as I need the hard stuff).
NOW….aside from all that, its my stomach which is pissing me off. I’m being kind to myself when I say it looks like an 80-year-old womans which I literally have to tuck into my knickers (or my new NBF’s, Spanx). The skin has been stretched sooo much that despite losing all my baby weight in under 4 months (I’ll be honest, I was strict with myself and determined to shift 5 stone as quickly as possible as the weight was killing my knees & I was fed up wearing The Captains jeans… fucking depressing), this didn’t really do my skin any favours. Slower weight loss equals better skin elasticity, apparently.
Also, despite hours in the gym (yaaaawn….unless there’s some sexy instructor to stare at) and now my obsession with Allegro Pilates in Stanley (I fucking love it and swear I gain weight the minute I stop), still this “envelope” of skin is sat there. Staring at me…. Day after day…. after day. Reminding me, never to show this bloody tummy off until, I too get a tummy tuck. I also forget its there from time to time, as I was so used to having such a lovely stomach that now if I raise my arms up in the super market and my T-shirt lifts… I automatically pull my top down as the skin above my C-section scar is loose. It looks horrible and I don’t want people seeing it. Am I being vain??! Yes of course, fucking of course!! I’m a bloody woman!!? I mean, who doesn’t want a nice body?
Now, I’m still going to give myself a bit longer as the twins have only just turned 14 months and I’m determined to at least try to tighten this skin. I’ve googled it all on the net and apparently, skin brushing and moisturising will help. However, my local Doctor, who I used to consider lovely (she’s had five kids though, the crazy cow) told me, it wont ever go but its the price we pay to be “blessed” with kids.
“BLESSED”?! How is it that these celebs are losing weight super quick and no loose skin?? Yes, I know, pretty much all have a surgeon to do a few nip/tucks, but where’s the scars etc? I’ve been watching that Kourtney Kardashian on E Hollywood and after just 3 months, she had lost the baby weight AND has a flat stomach. She’s also wearing a bikini (bitch) which I used to love poncing around in when my tummy didn’t jiggle like flippin jelly in a wrinkly old leather handbag.