Wednesday, 22 December 2010

Cancelled Due to Adverse Weather Conditions

Curse these 'adverse weather conditions'. My husband is due to leave Canada today, and arrive tomorrow morning, 23rd December. In time for Christmas. All flights are delayed, many are cancelled. Airplanes are frozen, and Heathrow Airport in London was shut last weekend; there is a huge backlog of flights.

Will daddy make it home for Christmas?

I was thinking about my strategy for the kids in case he wasn't going to make it in time. Do I carry on with Santa and the turkey and the lot, for just me and the kids? Do I postpone everything until he gets here? It's not like the kids can follow dates or anything. I decided to go ahead with some construction on my own, just in case - I was going to wait for my assistant to arrive to build the rocking horse and art easel, but I think now I'd better plough on. That's not the kind of stuff I want to be struggling with by myself the wee hours of Christmas Eve! I had been telling the kids that daddy will be coming when the snow comes (this was back in September), and now the snow has come they are, every day, expecting the arrival. I keep saying soon, soon. But when, when??

And again, curse these 'adverse weather conditions'. After all that hullaballoo over my work dinner out, and finding a babysitter, and all the fuss related to trying to leave the house...I got an email yesterday morning: "Due to the adverse weather conditions the team Christmas dinner out will be rescheduled to late January." Bah! Will I never leave the house!!!?? All was not lost, though, as the stew I had cooked for my friend who was coming to babysit, we had together instead. I know one day I will be able to leave the house, one day soon, soon. But when, when??

And for good measure, in advance, curse these 'adverse weather conditions' again. Although this is one thing I just won't have interrupted next week - if I have to crawl through an icy blizzard with ice forks on my fingers and sandpaper grips on my knees, I will make it to the hospital, and have my scan. Wheeee! This is the most fun one, finding out if it's a girl or a boy, seeing everything, seeing everything is OK, finding out if it's a girl or a boy...keeping the secret of whether it's a girl or a boy...! What fun! I am dying to know what's going on in there. And this scan will give me the gusto to start preparing. Nothing says 'Hey, you'd better get a move on reorganizing your house to suit a new baby' like seeing said baby loud and clear on a little TV in a cramped hospital scan room.

If my husband makes it here in time, he can come to the scan too - which would be great for him as he's missing all the action here on my side of life. I had it rescheduled for during his visit as a surprise.

On a good note, if the cold keeps up, our snowman (Snow dwarf? He is rather petite) will last until daddy finally arrives. I keep getting asked 'Is the snowman still there? Is he melting?'. Nope, he's still there. The little fella might be in for the long haul.

So, listen up, adverse weather. Screw you. You won't ruin my Christmas. So there.

Friday, 17 December 2010

The deep abyss

The deep abyss of self pity. The deep wallowing self indulgent lone drama of 'poor me'. A classic! Every woman is familiar with this state, I am sure - it can sneak right up on you when you least expect it. I had a real doozie the other day, what a laughable state; in retrospect I realize I was over dramatizing myself and it was quite funny, oh boo hoo, poor me, I'm so tired, life's so tough wah wah. As you may note I am currently over my abyss of self pity, but at the time it really was a nice wallow, and I did feel overwhelmingly sad/frustrated at life/'poor me'. A sign of weakness? Surely not. A sign of insecurity? Possible.

I have been feeling a bit like things are reeling away, the slippery devils I haven't been able to grasp tightly enough like I used to in the old days: workload, finances, personal time. Generally I have an 'I'll just get on with it' attitude, which has served me pretty well considering my circumstances now. It is end of year though, and tensions are high approaching the holidays, year end work goals need to be accomplished, Christmas presents bought, Christmas work parties to try to get to. I think that might have been what put me over the edge, trying to arrange something so I could leave the house and go to my work dinner. This single mum thing is such an ordeal. OK, having a partner doesn't do much on the workload front...well, actually I take that back, it does really because even if some tiny morsel of house chores could be done by someone else, I'd be better rested, or could catch up in the evenings. Having a partner definitely helps in the finances department - it is EXPENSIVE having kids, having a house, [having anything nowadays] and another salary would be nice. Where I find it most difficult to get a grasp on now, and what sends me into a good wallow, is the lack of personal time. Or personal freedom, really. Four months of being a prisoner in my own home is starting to get old, if I am honest. I can't leave this place! Well, I could leave this place. But at great ordeal, it seems. If my husband were living here, I could just walk out the door, say "Goodbye, I'll be back in [20 minutes, 1 hour, after my night out] see you later!" and I'd be off. Now - ordeal.

A friend had kindly offered to babysit sometime to release me from the clutches of my home; sadly at the time I couldn't even think of what I'd do! What would I go out and do alone for one night, after 7 pm? Go to the hotel down the road and see if I could get my toes done (that might be nice actually)? If I had a regular gig I'd for sure join something - the Village Players, library group, dance class, swimming. One off's are more difficult to decide on - cinema? I could ask another friend to come out, but I wouldn't do that actually, I'd feel weird having one friend babysit and take another one out, it wouldn't seem right. So when my work Christmas dinner came up I though 'OH perfect! The opportunity I'd been waiting for!'. Unfortunately my kind friend had her work dinner the same night. Hmmm no babysitter. OK then, step 2. I asked my other friend's daughter who usually babysits for me - she is babysitting somewhere else that night. OK, step 3. I make a general plea on Facebook. No takers so far. Step 4. Ask one of the nursery ladies if she will babysit (one who has come once before - but was so expensive I hadn't dared ask again!) - but she is busy that night too! Ugh this is where I am getting into expensive territory though, where I have to really ask myself, is it worth going out for a few hours which will cost me at least 30 quid?? That's why the regular gig options are out of the question. No way I am paying that kind of money weekly to go to some library group, or the gym - if the night out was free? That would be nice to get out. In my case, no way.

So my husband calls on Skype, and I was already teetering on self pity weariness anyway (no babysitter - I know the DRAMA of it all!)...and just seeing him, and he is coming home next week for a visit, and...I don't know. It all just made me wallowy and he is talking and I am doing the female furtive sniffling thing. He finally notices and asks how I am, and says "Don't worry, you'll find a babysitter"...and I say "I'm just hooo...I'm just tired...". Was I really that tired? I am not sure. Fed up? Maybe. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't that I couldn't find a babysitter - I knew I could find a babysitter, I mean, come on, really of course I could. I guess the babysitter thing just presented the reality to me of my situation. Just...the whole thing. I think it is my general insecurity of it all, and everything being just a little bit beyond my control, a little bit beyond my reach. I see the desire of my kids for their security toys they sleep with, and the attachment is deep. A more literal sense in their case, but a Lamby and Bobo dolly might be nice right now, just something to cuddle, you know will be there and you can grasp hold of whenever you need. Where's my Lamby? Husband, where are you? Freedom, where are you?

My son must feel like me right now, as Lamby and Bobo had to go into an emergency wash tonight (we were out for the whole day and the kids had closed the access doors to the cat's food and litter box; poor cat pooed and weed all over my son's bed and dollies in desperation while we were out), and even extra Lamby and Bobo are dirty and in the other washing bin. He had done some serious wallowing about this, and wallowed and wailed about no Lamby and Bobo until almost 8:30 pm. It's quiet now though. I'll take that as an inspiration for myself, I can just get on with it, and I do get on with it. Since my funk moment anyway I've been fine, no need to wallow anyway. I like my life. I like my job. I like my kids. I like the challenges. And I have another [expensive] nursery lady lined up to be available for my night out, and a friend has now got back to me (thank you!) to babysit also - TWO babysitters! Mountain out of a molehill, the deep abyss is really quite a shallow one after all.

Sometimes it's nice to have a good moan anyway, and have someone listen to you boo hoo "I'm soooooooo tiiiiired!!!". It feels good afterwards, doesn't it, when you can have a laugh at yourself! There are sure benefits of 'poor me'. And of security dollies. Don't worry my little one, I'll have Lamby back in no time.

Monday, 6 December 2010

The Girls are back!

Finally. I've been waiting for almost 4 months. I thought they might be gone forever after the last time. I am happy to say, though, that a comeback has occurred.

The Girls are back. I have breasts again!

Anyone who tells you that pregnancy and breastfeeding don't ruin your boobs is telling a bold-faced lie. No matter how solid, how perky, how dense your boobs once were, after a year of sudden expansion and a few months of insane engorgement, they don't have a chance. I was even known *ahem* in some circles for having amazingly, particularly perky, dense boobs. Relatively little, perhaps, but they packed a good punch, they were good'uns. The aftermath of 5 months breastfeeding though, I mean, it was a shock. You know things aren't going to be the same ever again, generally, all over your whole entire self, but the breast transformation was the most dramatic. What were once Proud Young Ladies had suddenly become useless empty bags, at once devoid of their purpose; Great Saggy Aunties. Both shocking, and a bit disappointing. They looked so....sad. So deflated. Literally.

I am not against breatfeeding at all, I breastfed both of my children and I'll do it again. I mean, hey, I have already destroyed any chance at preserving the look of my breasts, they're toast already - might as well have another go. Besides that I know it's the right thing etc etc just like all the government advice says so. But, if you are cosmetically inclined in that way, consider yourself warned: Breastfeeding Makes For Empty Saggy Sacks, They Will Never Ever Come Back. If I had known that, really known that prior to breastfeeding my first baby, I still wouldn't have decided differently. I still would have breastfed as long as I could. But at least it wouldn't have been such a shock once it was all over.

I will thus really enjoy my time again now with my big full breasts. They look A-mazing. I am so pleased they have come back to spend some time with me. I am taking good care of them as well; oiling them twice a day, holding them up in my good bras. I need to savour every last moment before they say goodbye again. It is a shame actually that my husband is not here to see me in my blooming state; breasts looking as good as they ever have, full body oiling every night, it's like a teenage fantasy! Poor fellow is missing out. I even ordered the Rolls Royce of body oil, the oft-spoken about Bio Oil. It's good stuff. It has some sort of cosmic amoebic quality to it, and the peachy pink colour is a nice bonus. My husband will like the smell better too - previously I used the Mama Mio oil which he said I reeked like a Grandmother's undies drawer, and then I tried the Palmers cocoa butter oil, which he said I reeked like a chocolate Lush soap outlet...

Anyway, when other than pregnancy does anyone bother to religiously oil themselves? Never. My husband better appreciate my voluptuous oiled physique upon his return. It will be worth the flight!

The only problem with all the oiling is my bed is inadvertently getting oiled as well. I had got into the habit of sleeping with no PJs (which started back when my husband and I were young and reckless!) and now wearing pajamas is sooooo squiggly and uncomfortable, material bunching, shirt riding up, legs twisting...I can't go back. So even by myself now I am sleeping pajama-less. I try to do some running around post-oiling pre-bed to let myself soak in. I must look so silly, carting around nude, tidying toys and hanging clothes, it's just as well no one is home. The no PJs has also led to some further challenges, now I am up in the night dealing with the kids. Firstly, it's freezing! Secondly, I feel quite silly, tending to the kids nude - which might entail sitting on the bathtub in the dark watching my older son poo at 2 am, fetching Calpol from the spare room, hanging over the side of the cot shhh-patting the little one back to sleep for 20 minutes at a time. What a silly scene. And this morning my older son insisted he had to have breakfast immediately, was crying and went trailing behind into the kitchen (nude)....discovering there was no milk left in the I had to go outside in the freezing cold (nude) to the garage [I had put my coat on at least, so no actual streaking into the back garden, but I felt ridiculous wearing just a coat and my red crocs and going outside to get a case of milk from the garage at 6:45 am]. The only other time I ended up doing some actual streaking outside my house is when I had gone to get my jeans hemmed by a lady in the village, and thought I was really clever and wore the jeans I wanted done to her place...but then had no bottoms to wear home (!). That was a quick scurry from the car to my front door. Maybe I should give pajamas another go.

Well, my Beautiful Breast Comeback has occurred just in time for my husband's Christmas Visit Comeback, the lucky fellow. Welcome home. You have (all) been missed xx