24 Sept 2018

Hangover

On Friday I accidentally got stupidly drunk.

I know what you're thinking, how can a 37 year old woman accidentally get drunk?

Well, she drank lots of wine, didn't eat any dinner and forgot to drink water, soooooo...

I did this at book club.  Not wine club.  Book club.  We don't generally even drink at book club but hey, that didn't stop this dickhead.

My lovely friend gave me a lift so I could have a vino or two, or twelve, but who's counting? It wasn't me! 

I was actually having an amazing time, laughing, sharing, chatting about all the things and I remember thinking to myself, aren't I lucky to have all these wonderful women in my life followed directly by, you need to eat some more food and drink some water Jess. 

Then I woke up fully clothed on my bed at 5am and I thought I was going to die. 

So that was good.

I actually think it was mere moments after having the above thought that I shut my eyes at the table, everyone cottoned on that I was maggoted and my friend carted me home.

Because I can't remember.

The next day I apologised to all the girls and everybody said I was fine.

Thank god.

But fuck, I was not feeling fine.

I was actually ok until I had to move. And move I must.  My kids had a playdate and it had literally been months since we'd seen one friend as they've moved away and weeks since we saw other friend because life. 

And I love Mushroom that we were going to see his mates so yeah, couldn't get out of it.

I showered.  I drank some water.  I swallowed some paracetamol.  I pulled my shit together, got in the car (yes, probably shouldn't have driven, well aware, it was 12 hours later and I thought I was ok...) and drove to the Strand.

I had to stop on the way to dry retch.

I then bought coffee and gelato for the kids and lay on the ground groaning inwardly whilst my friends laughed at me and the kids had the best time ever.

And then comes my mother of the year moment, are you ready? It's good.

I vomited in public on the strand. 

It gets better, whilst I'm doing this, my two year old daughter comes over and pats me on the back repeating, "it's ok Mummy, it's alright" in soothing tones. I thanked her profusely whilst thinking that I'm probably the worst mother in the history of the universe, but also not, because I told her to get on the other side of me because it was windy and I didn't want to throw up on her.

Yep.

All time low.

I really am the best mother ever.

Finest moment in recent history and also my best angle...


PS do you ever really learn not to do this dumb shit?  Because it's been 20 years and I'm still a dickhead...

Photo credit to my GF Amanda. No birthday present for you!

17 Sept 2018

September

Does anyone else feel like they should be doing all the things?  But not even getting one thing right? 

Because, little old me over here, I feel like I'm doing a pretty shit job of most things.

I want a career, to focus on work, challenge myself, make more money, use my brain, be successful at what I do but I can't seem to make it happen. I'm not sure if people just don't believe in me or I just don't believe in myself and I'm not doing enough to put that across. 

But then if I focus on work, where does that leave my kids?  How do I serve myself and support them at the same time?  How do I spend time with them if I'm racing them out the door to daycare and before and after school care and then racing home to cook dinner and fold clothes and read books and play and pick up all the toys and not be cranky and tired and present?

And how do I keep my house clean?  And stay on top of the shopping and the cooking and the cleaning and the never-ending washing... and let's not mention the walls and the cupboards and the windows and the fans. All the big things that should be cleaned regularly that just don't get done because frankly I'm flat out mopping the damn floor let alone wiping down the fucking walls. And why is it my job?  Who made me the person in charge of house cleaning?  Just because I work less hours, I'm the chief cleaner or is it because instead of a penis, I have a vagina, which obviously means that I do 95% of the housework?  Please explain.  And, yes, Juffin does clean.  He cleans the bathroom, the toilet, does the dishes every night, wipes down counters etc I just get fucking annoyed that I have to ask him to hang out the washing or bring it in.  How fucking hard is it?

Speaking of, when do I get to spend time with my husband, quality time, where we don't just argue about money or who didn't put the dishwasher on, or who let the kids eat too many snacks before dinner so they don't eat it and then serve them yoghurt?  We have no family here any more, no free babysitter on tap and I wish my village was bigger but I feel so awful because I can barely find the time to see my mates now, and I only know what's going on with them because of fucking facebook and I need to put my relationship first because that shit is important but it would be nice to see more of my friends and spend quality time with my husband but there's only so much that this Mama can do... 

Then there's the self care.  The exercise, the eating well, the hairdresser, the leg waxes, the down time on your own... I like sleep but it's rare that I'm in bed before 11.  Because it's the only time that I can be alone.  And have you tried dragging yourself out of bed, after you've woken up at 2am with a cold arse because it's hanging off the side of your queen size bed as there's two males taking up most of the room and your daughter is trying to use your head as a pillow and you have to move down the end of the bed to get some room and then you get kicked and/or chatted to for hours until your alarm goes off at 5.15 and you think fucking hell, exercise is the last bloody thing I feel like doing and you roll over and get one hour of good sleep before your bladder is turned into a trampoline for one very exuberant 2 year old on?   Well, have you?

I feel the pressure, the load, the weight of my fat arse and all these things that I'm not doing well, if at all, and it's no wonder that most of us are suffering under the weight of our own failed expectations.

Where do these feelings come from?  Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves?  Why do people pretend that life is fucking perfect?  I just can't buy into that bullshit.  Today I saw a story on instagram and this woman was showing us her immaculate kitchen with shiny, clean surfaces, no clutter, no mess and was doing that self-deprecating bullshit where she goes, 'oh don't mind the mess'... FARK YOU LADY!  Your giant, beautiful, AMAZING kitchen, which is bigger than my living room, is showroom perfect.  You probably spent HOURS cleaning it.  HOURS.  And if you didn't, WELL FUCK YOU!  BECAUSE MY KITCHEN LOOKS LIKE A BOMB HIT IT MOST OF IT THE DAMN TIME! 

Do you guys feel like you're doing shit wrong too?  Let's stop pretending everything is peachy. Let's share the shit.  And I don't mean like "Today sucks, FML" let's be honest. Like last week, I was home with my son who had conjunctivitis and I let him watch TV all day whilst I read my book in my bed and I ate a whole block of roast almond chocolate that I hid from him so I didn't have to share...

Yep.

I'm a fat pog.

And this is my life.

Sausage Morel's