Tag Archive | Gina Ford

Im home from the hospital….lucky me

What can I say?  I’m home.

Tired?  Yep. Dreaming of nothing but sleep & wine?  Yep.  Wondering how the hell I’m going to make it through the next few months…yep, yep, friggin YEPPPPPP!!!  Gina Ford was clearly on acid, or had a night nurse/rich Daddy.

The Captain keeps pointing out that I have “2 domestic helpers”  to assist with the kids. Can I point out that those “helpers” have burnt EVERYTHING, accidentally killed our goldfish “Dorothy” by putting hot water instead of cold in her fish bowl, let both my kids almost drown in Bali (until I jumped into the pool (4 months preg), forgot to turn off the gas, water, lock the doors etc.  Yes… I feel sooo safe leaving my kids with, well, two adults who resemble grown children.  Two Helpers does not a mother make.

For those of you who struggle with (a) guilt, (b) guilt, and (c) guilt for not spending enough time with your family … leaving your kids to helpers just isn’t a 24 hour option. Unless you want a totally spoilt brat for a child (which was not in the IVF/my life brochure), also, I’m fucking strict.  I’ve read sooo many books on parenting that its coming out my arse.

Be strict, don’t be strict, tell them “no”, accept “yes”….bla bla bla.  I recently had my son (aka “Satan”) walk from our car to our apartment without one of his shoes on last weekend (the Captain was repulsed & yet managed to bite his lip, despite his OCD when it comes to “dirt”) because my son insists on taking them off every car journey.  He also has selective language skills. ie. some days English, some days, nothing at all but he can rely on his twin sister to answer for him anytime.   My boy is lazy, manipulative and super bright when he chooses to be.  He also knows how to sort the weak from the strong .  He’s already done it at home with our Helpers and family which means, Im the only one giving him any discipline as everyone else falls for his doey eyed brown long lashes…cheeky genius.  Why do I have no patience with this?  That said, he’s NEVER taken his shoes off in the car since.  I have THREE brothers…. they all did the same thing.  Attention was needed all the time and I was left on the side line.

I’m also surprised at how quickly I fell in love with our new arrival.  I honestly thought that after months of feeling very negative while pregnant (apparently this was due to hormones to test my marriage & all those vows) which I have never EVER experienced, considering I’m a generally unbalanced weekend alcoholic (some days although this book I’m reading has curbed the alcohol. Disturbingly). I was worried I wouldn’t “bond” and would blame our new arrival for, well…. anything.  I read the book “We need to talk about Kevin” when it first can out…. I worried recently that I was going to experience the same shit.  Was I going to really dislike this child?  Did she ruin my life (although I hated HK already)?

I know when you’re pregnant, you’re body does crazy things and you feel tired. Once you give birth, you can feel very alone and absolutely shattered.  I look at the Captain sometimes, begging him to just “stay” with me when he heads off to work.  Something that would never happen were we at home in London. I’m clearly tired and I’m also aware of being on my own. My friends at home…well… they would know to just show up and keep an eye on me (thats having a history for you).   Living abroad is tough.  I dont miss London, but, I miss my girlfriends.

Anyhow, how had I forgotten the sheer exhaustion us new mums feel?  I swear I see rainbows and leprechauns most mornings when I’m feeding our new-born monkey, yes minus acid pills/magic mushrooms/any other pain killer.  I’m knackered at the best of times but now, bloody hell!!  I can’t even speak or leave the house, just because that would involve interacting with the outside world while I look like total and utter shite.  Tracksuit bottoms and X large T-Shirts are my wardrobe.

I dont want to brush my hair (good thing I got that Brazilian blow-dry on Groupon before I gave birth), I would like to brush my teeth (Captain insists on that one due to halitosis that has suddenly appeared), I dont want to get changed out of my maternity Winnie the Pooh night-dress (the only thing that fits me and, well lets face it, it’s fucking comfortable).  Also, I had a C section which means, I’m in AGONY at the mo.   Even with the drugs, which, if I’m honest, are not like the ones I could get in the UK, it’s not enough.  I think they regulate stuff here 😦  I’m tired, angry, twitchy (which means I want to fight non stop), nothing fits me (ie. maternity wear is too big and my old clothes too tight).  It’s really depressing.  I don’t know what I expected this time round but… well…. I expected to sleep & …. quick weight loss at least!

Too posh to push you think? Nope. Too terrified is more like it and as nature would kindly have it, if I were to attempt birth via the usual, alleged natural, route, I would be wearing sexy incontinence pants forever (stick that in your judgemental pipe and smoke it “Miss I want kids naturally. Why don’t you?”).  I’ve had discussions with some really annoying people who have asked me “why not give birth naturally?”

These are the same annoying people who want to give birth in a swimming pool with dolphins and sing songs about love every night to their newborn while sharing beds 24 hours a day, as well as saliva.  Fuck off!!  Errrr…. hello!  You’re the same women, BEGGING for an epidural when the reality of pain hits you!!  Miss “I want to do this naturally”, is suddenly, “Miss Give me everything you’ve got” when the shit hits the fan. Yes, I’m going to judge you. Cheeky sods.  Stop telling me what to do. It really annoys me…and, I’m sorry, BUT, you don’t make better mothers. You don’t. In fact, you’re the annoying one’s I’m praying my son doesn’t knock up.  That’ll be an interesting conversation as no one even knows how the THE CAPTAIN will respond. I’m, for the record…. NORMAL.

Seriously, how does anyone have the right to ask you how you chose to give birth? SERIOUSLY? How judgemental are you to ask?  And… really …. just piss off.  If I wanted to give birth in a cave, in Pok Fu Lam, (West HK – dont think there are any?!), with a yogi as my guide and a Domestic Helper to pull the baby out, who are YOU to tell me thats not right?  I swear, it’s driving me mad how EVERYONE has an opinion on what you should do and when you should do it.  Because their way is clearly the right way?  No it isn’t!! Nothing in life is the right way.  Just do it your way.  Always.  Fuck everyone else. They know sod all in any event.

What do I miss about my pregnancy?  Zilch, nil, bubcus, zero, niente… nothing!!   If you mean, do I miss feeling like a fat cow and arguing non-stop with my husband because I was being, and I quote, “disgusting”, then nope. I dont miss one second of this pregnancy.  The Captain told me I was a different person. Not something you want to hear when you’re going through a shitty phase as it is. If only men knew how SHIT it could be.  It’s a weird kinda life where you don’t care who you are anymore. Very odd.

What do I miss post baby?  The Matilda Hospital, AKA, the Four Seasons for new Mums everywhere.  This Hospital AKA “Hotel”, should be in every country.

I swear all mums should go and spend a week somewhere like the Matilda.  Somewhere where you order your meals, they take the baby away for feeding, and you get to sleep.  Ahhh… I was devastated when I left (as was the Captain when he picked up the worlds BIGGEST medical bill). Also, I met some lovely people by default.. especially the nurses.  There was ONE night nurse who quickly became my have.  This woman would turn up and offer me legal drugs without judgement. I LOVED her.  Some nurses do judge but not this one.  I have about 5 photos with her when I left.  Everyone thought mine was the crazy “tidy” room (I’m super tidy).  People would walk in and be like “Have you been cleaning?”…yes…I’m ashamed to say, I put my shoes away in a cupboard with my jacket and I put my stuff away.  How messy are you people?!  Seriously!!?

It’s no wonder the rich and famous have their kids there.  I’m neither but, its where us ex-pats have our kids dahling. Who am I to argue with that?  On arriving at the Hotel Matilda, we were given a menu on which room options I had for my 5 night package.  If I shared with 2 or 4 others, well, the bill would have been much smaller. BUT, the Captain, being the big girls blouse that he is (i wouldn’t have argued actually), said “No. You have your own room as I wouldn’t want to share”. I buttoned my lip there and then, looked at the twins and thought, “yeh…fuck it! I’m tired””. Also, I’m alone.  I felt that this time round, even with wonderful friends turning up to show me some love.  I felt sad. I wanted my friends from home and my Mum.  I’m clearly quite simple.

Let me give you an example of what I was missing after leaving …. view photos below before I continue my wonderful tale.

And photo number 2 of my wonderful bedroom.

And err…number 3…my club sandwich during lunch. What a wondrous, fabulous place this Matilda is…

The photo below is a my view from my BALCONY (hahahaaaaaa) at night.  I was in bed by 9pm most nights.  Bloody amazing.

The above is a daytime view which was sometimes sooo cloudy, you couldn’t see bugger all.  I didn’t care though… I was staying at the Matilda Hospital (& the now very poor Captain has the bills to prove it!) That said, people who live in the Peak must be walking around on clouds (literally).  The roads are windy, the views obscured by clouds and well, you’re miles away from anything.  Then again, I hate leaving the house if I can help it, so maybe it just felt that way.  Plus the morphine and various drugs helped me forget a lot of things.  Everyone, en route up to La Matilda (Le/La…I’m not sure which?), was walking a dog and had a Rolex.  RICH.

Anyhow, hopefully, you get the picture.  I spent 5 days in absolute Mummy Heaven (in fact, that sounds like a club I used to go to in Kings Cross where you did pills I couldn’t handle and went home in a cab you were afraid of).  Good times.  HK…I’m still not in love with it BUT, I will say this.  I’m now 35 (yes, old goat), and I still feel 25. I have 3 kids and thankfully a bloke I love.  He understands me and I LOVE THAT.

Baby No.3  WELCOME.

MATILDA.  YOU ARE WONDERFUL.

Legal drugs. Even better.  Nurses who don’t judge… you are my favourites.

ps. The Matilda… I lied when I said I needed more morphine.

3 days until I give birth at Hotel Matilda

How fucking exciting.  Oh and its the year of the Dragon which is hugely lucky in China (I was also born in the year of the Dragon but do not consider myself a lucky person).

BTW.. The photo above scared the crap out of my 2 year olds (as well as The Captain & I) when we popped downstairs to show them some “culture” on Chinese New year.  Even now, the Captain keeps waking, screaming, “man with a mask!! man with a mask!!”

Anyhow… I can’t wait to start Gina Ford all over again and am soooo looking forward to the sleepless days/nights, 3 hourly feeds, nap times, endless bottles, nappies filled with various colours of shit (yellow being my least favourite, along with the ones that keep on coming while you’re mid nappy change & resemble sausages).  And the lack of sleep!  Ahh… boy can’t I wait to walk around like a crazy, tired, unkempt Mum, dyyyyying to sleep…anywhere.  PLUS, my 2-year-old Twins have NO idea that life as they know it is soon going to change.  Yes, I’m so excited.  The excitement is seeping out of my every pore.

What will be my first port of call on having given birth?  A romantic dinner for two with The Captain?  Time alone with Itchy and Scratchy reading books and cuddling?  No. Sorry.  It turns out I’m a selfish bitch.  All I want, aside from a healthy child, is a big bottle of champagne (with a straw) just for me and maybe a quick call to the local dealer for a few ounces of class A’s.   Hey…I’m celebrating starting all over again and I need to do some things properly.  Not just that but after a year of non-stop Pilates, that body has now been beaten to shit and resembles a 50-year-old Northern pub Landlandys body after one too many Friday night Fish n Chips.  Depressing?  Hell yes.

Why lie and say “I’m sooo excited and screw what I look like?”   The truth is, I’ve found it pretty depressing looking more and more like a bag of lard as the months have rolled on.  No, I havent gained as much weight as I did with the twins (2.5 stone to be exact) but still, I personally find it hard going when the weight piles on without much effort.  Vain?  Yes, but I don’t care.  I’m a woman for fucks sake!   We are vain to a certain extent….unless you’re a raging lesbo with a crew cut and moustache (yeh, whatever, I’m generalizing).  I hate that I can’t bend down to put my shoes on, hence why I now live in my wooly sock Uggs.  I hate that my skin keeps getting breakouts (I’ve never had bad skin, EVER) and resembles a 13-year-old zit covered boys (minus stubble).  I hate that when I look in the mirror, a different person is looking back at me.  Pregnant women are beautiful?  Whoever said that is clearly a chubby chaser as I am not feeling one ounce of sexy or beauty.  In fact, I look and feel like total shit.  AND, for those women who ARE pregnant and swaning around the place looking all wonderful….please fuck off.  You are really annoying me.  AND stop showing me your flat bellies?!!! Why would you do this to someone who is clearly pregnant and suffering mentally!?

Excited about the new arrival?  Sure, once she’s here, I’ll be fine but until then, I’m going to keep moaning and boring the crap out of everyone.   I mean, I’m sooo bored, I can’t even be bothered to watch the Kardashians on E! Hollywood, go for a walk (apparently good for you when pregnant although I didn’t do this last time either), entertain myself with belly flops in the swimming pool, or even leave the apartment.  Hmmm…. maybe I’m depressed?   Nope.   I think I’m just missing being a drunken, happy, skinny Mum.  Now, I’m soooo huge, I can only wear stretchy tracksuit bottoms, bras that are 8 sizes bigger (The Captain is not complaining about the huge boobs though…surprise surprise)… the huge list on how unattractive I feel right now is endless.  The poor Captain keeps saying “I want my Wife back!” while I’m covered in sexy spot cream, looking like the grim reaper.  Oh, and just to add insult to injury, do you want to know what my supportive better half did a few weeks ago?  He RECORDED me snoring, then PLAYED it to his work colleague.  He then emailed me a link to this monstrosity, stating, “I think there was a Rhino in the bed last night?”  Supportive git.  I beat him with a wooden spoon that night.

Ok, so, another part of my character that has developed since I fell pregnant (and which I’ve mentioned in past posts), is that I’m angry.  Now, I don’t mean a “little angry”, I’m talking, fly off the handle, screaming, swearing like a mother fucker trucker, ANGRY.  I get sooo angry over things that all I want to do is shout, OR, cry.  Yes, the crying is also there. I can break out in tears at any given minute, even while shouting, eating three triple Big Mac & having chocolate… all at the same time (because I can multi-task).  The ONLY time, I’m still me (albeit a boring version as I’m sober), is when I’m with my little munchkins, Itchy & Scratchy.  They are the only ones keeping me sane.  Ok, so they don’t get they’re going to have a new sister but it’ll keep me entertained for a while, watching them interact with their new sibling.  Especially once I crack open that first bottle of white wine….

Roll on next week as Yummy Mamma is about to return ….. and she deeply misses her booze & skinny jeans.

POSITION OF THE WEEK – BELOW

I would call this one “Having a few too many on a Friday night…& inviting others for a “menage a quatre”.  Don’t ask me what the blue bunny is doing but it looks to me like the Tasmanian Devil instigated the whole thing.