Someone shoot me now…or lead me to a bar so I can drink until its dry. Shit…I’m pregnant!! Ignore my last comment until February.
So, this week, my 21 month old son, AKA. Satan, is at it again. Screaming, crying, spitting his food out, throwing toys, bullying his twin sister, banging on the walls when he’s been put in his cot for time-out and today, he not only threw but then kicked his favourite toy car breaking a wheel off in the process. It was at this point that I was soo frustrated that I bit my lip really really hard (so as not to slap him!) and its now blue and black in colour (that’s how hard I bit it).
Despite sharing a womb with his twin sister (although separate amniotic sacs/placenta etc), he’s totally different (she’s nice for a start!). Where she’s kind to everyone, friendly and incredibly talkative, hitting every milestone required…he’s becoming worse and worse, not to mention more jealous of her as a result. I want to split them up at nursery so they can both grow. PLUS, my son gets waaay more attention than my daughter in any event, due to his despicable behaviour. We have tried everything from ignoring him to time-outs (which I will pursue) and although he’s better behaved when I’m around, the minute I walk out the room, he’s back to being his new brattish self.
As of today we discovered Satan can now climb out of his cot. Great. Just fucking great. The one place we knew we could keep him safe while he was having his meltdown, is now something new for him to climb out of.
On top of that, The Captain is driving me insane. He has a habit of making huge sweeping statements that make my blood boil ie. “What you will be doing once the Baby comes and we have another Domestic Helper in the house?” Errrr…. what the fuck?? Just because we have another Helper to help with the kids doesn’t mean anything. People with Twins in Hong Kong know that most schools, playrooms etc wont allow any child under the age of 2/3 go to anything without ONE ADULT PER CHILD. This means that, to date, I am one of the only Mums (among a sea of Filipino Helpers) attending all the school/playgroup stuff.
Now we have finally hired someone to join us next year to help ferry the twins back and forth from school etc, I will be stuck in-doors (again) with a newborn baby. The Captain stating “Soooo….what will you do then when there’s 2 nannies around?” made me want to reach for his ball-sack and pull it as hard as possible!
I mean, what does a newborn baby entail? Hmmm…. let me think for a minute. Feeding every 3 hours, no sleep, constant puking, shitty diapers, making up endless bottles of milk, sterilizing, washing and changing about a 100 times a day as poo or sick has got on baby-gros/muslins/bibs bla friggin bla. Not to mention your hormones are going nuts and (if they have already been fucked while pregnant) will be a zillion times worse once baby comes to not only deprive you of sleep, but you will want to harm your Husband for making such undeniably insensitive comments.
I’m lucky to get a full nights sleep now with twin toddlers and ONE nanny in the house (our current “Nanny” by the way, can’t cook fuck all, bleaches all our clothes, ruins all the furniture and forgets to lock our doors/turn the gas off). Sure, having two people here to “Help” will ease the burden with our twins but that doesn’t mean I will be handing my newborn over to Helper A who doesn’t have the ability to move quickly on her feet at the best of times. Nor will I hand Baby over to new Helper B, who hasn’t even started with us yet and nor has she never looked after a newborn child.
Yes…. dear Captain, my life will be soooo easy with our newborn as I’ll be sat here, sipping Cosmos and topping up my suntan while our Satan Son runs amok, our daughter is being bullied senseless by him and the newborn baby (who we will have to watch constantly due to Satan’s reaction to girls) is being fed contaminated Milk as Helper A can’t wash a fucking dish properly let alone a million bottles (I currently re-wash everything and have explained a thousand times you need to wash-up with HOT WATER!!!).
Yes, I cant wait to have not one, but two women in my home doing my head in daily, just so I can have help with our kids. Ungrateful? Me? Tell someone who gives a shit. I’m all done with apologies here. Oh, AND The Captain wants a dog. I told him to go fuck himself, with a pencil sharpener. What is it I do all day? Well apparently I sit on my ever-expanding pregnant arse, eating chocolate and watching E! Hollywood.
Bring on baby number 3 please…. then a plane ticket back to London. I’m soo over Hong Kong.
ps. On a separate note, the family and I went on an excursion to Hong Kong’s Disney Land for the first time since moving here. Look what some die-hard Disney fan had piled high in their car …. weirdo.
So for those of you who have experienced the joys of being pregnant, you may recall watching in sheer horror when you got on those bathroom scales, and noted you were officially a FAT COW. Now, for someone like me, who I have to admit, is slightly obsessed with staying thin after gaining 14 pounds in their FIRST year of University (trust me…. it was not a pretty sight when I’m only 5 ft 3 & usually a size 6-8 UK). The fear of gaining any weight since I shifted it all, is always there. I worked out (in between visits to a pub/bar/lunch with an alcoholic friend), I watched what I ate and if necessary, I didn’t eat and simply drank (yes, yes…shoot me).
Ask any fat person whose lost weight and is determined to keep it off what their fear is and they will say you just can’t let it creep back because before you know it, you’re doing midnight runs to MacDonald’s (or any open Petrol station) to get a junk food fix. I do have to admit my incredible weight gain at University was not because I was about to star in the next Bridget Jones movie, but due to copious amounts of smoking skunk (oh go judge elsewhere if you’re going to turn your nose up at this now as I LOVE SKUNK, or loved… not had it for a v v v long time now), which was followed by the munchies (usually Chinese takeaway or a greasy Kebab at 3am), and an INCREDIBLE amount of beer. I actually thought I was one of the guys. In fact, I still do but as I now have a sensible Husband to keep me in check, this side of my personality gets cut short very quickly when he sees me even attempting to join a drinking competition at any party/bar/pub/wedding. I just can’t help myself… especially when there’s Vodka, Wine or Champagne. He just knows I’m like a moth to a flame and tries to steer me away from any potential scenes later that may include dancing on a bar (Coyote Ugly style), getting into a street fight or falling in my 6 inch YSL’s that I only wear on very special occasions.
Therefore when this pregnancy began, I initially walked around all smug (ok, and depressed because I was missing white wine) as I had barely gained any weight and in fact, no one noticed I was pregnant (at first). Well, fast forward 6.5 months (YES IM ALMOST THERE!!!) and I suddenly felt my arse jiggle as I walked to the shops to buy some ice cream yesterday (it wasn’t for me honest). ARSE JIGGLE?! What the hell is next?!?! Turkey chin? Bingo wings?When I gain weight, my face starts to fill out first and I HATE it, simply because I look like I’ve stuffed 2 ping-pong balls into my mouth and grown an extra tire around my neck, Kimora Lee Simmons stylie (I love her so that’s not me being mean, but I feel like I’ve developed that horrid “sausage neck” effect). Plus, as the Twins are only now 20 months old, they still don’t seem to get what the hell is going on with Mummy. I mean…. I’ve gone from being Yummy to Fatty and they havent even batted an eyelash. Does this mean that (a) There’s something wrong with them? in which case, I’m going to have to start looking for a Specialist pediatrician, or (b) Is this what they mean by “unconditional love”, that they havent even noticed that Mummy has turned into a fat cow?
During all my moaning, where has The Captain been? Well, lucky for him, he’s had loads of travelling to do which means, I’ve been able to sleep in the middle of our bed, with the air con on while it is now considered “winter time in Hong Kong” (this is Summer time in London) and I’m not trying to hammer his ballsack to the wall every time he speaks. I appreciate that pregnancy hormones make women crazy but I think his lack of “doting” on me this time round (I mean, ok, I’ve had twins so this really should be a breeze…plus its Baby No. 3 so get over it already) but I expected him to be a little more…. I dunno….. pandering to my every whim maybe?
When that doesn’t happen, I now just beat him verbally/emotionally until I burst into tears screaming “I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!” while he stands there, in disbelief, unsure what I’m actually talking about. He just thinks I’ve lost the plot and keeps saying “You were nothing like this last time you were pregnant!?” which winds me up even more. I mean, purrrrlease!! Last time was planned and clearly controlled with a number of IVF drugs!! This time was not only a huge shock (we can’t recall when the deed happened but are sure it involved Vodka Jelly shots) but I’ve got toddlers running around (one of which head butted me yesterday right in the middle of my tummy while attempting a hug) and I can’t bloody sleep even if I wanted to. I was expecting to spend afternoons leisurely watching “E Hollywood” and all the crappy TV one can find (seriously HK has SHIT TV) and yet, nope… none of that’s happening. I don’t even know what’s happening with The Kardashians for christs sake!!!?!
I guess the lack of alcohol has also made me feel like I’m in my own Chinese version of “The Priory” (a well-known rehab clinic in SW London). I’ve had all sorts of comments on my radiant, glowing complexion (now the crazy pregnancy zits/fucking awful boil-type pimples are finally going) and this is all due to a serious lack of, well anything naughty. I’m bored to tears (literally) but also excited to see this next baby and get back to my old body, my old alcoholic ways and being fun again.
Right now, when I actually see other people drinking and enjoying themselves over lunch, all I want to do is go take a massive dump (AKA. shit) in the middle of their table and tell them to piss off. Yep… pregnancy hormones clearly make you crazy.
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