Well, no, my actual head did not actually pop off. It certainly felt like a milestone though. I turned twenty six years of age on the nineteenth day in the seventh month of the two thousand and thirteenth year of our Lord.
See, it sounds so hallowed and important in old timey speak!
Seriously, though. It was a great time. Birthdays have carried a certain amount of pressure for me since I was allowed to celebrate them, due to the lack of celebrations in my formative years, which I'm sure is something all my nearest and dearest are terribly sick of hearing about. In fact, right now, I reckon they're all in a corner gagging themselves with spoons. However, be that as it may, every birthday gets built up in my head to impossible ivory tower standards, which, if you follow, means every birthday induces some level of self deprecating disappointment.
Hurray! Who is ready for cake? A cake that you will squirrel away into the dark corner of a bathroom somewhere and fork rabidly into your mouth while you sob all over your sparkly glitter based make up, cheered only by the discovery that your salty tears are a really nice balance to the chocolate ganache.
I am happy to report that this year was not anything like the scene above. The day before me and my best girlfriends went out on the town IN HEELS AND DRESSES and ate our weight in all-you-can-(not should, CAN)-eat sushi, had an inappropriately surreal experience at a local restaurant in which a waiter seemed to materialise from nowhere, only to become a stripper of the absolute worst level of aptitude. And to think we had only ventured there to devour dessert and coffee(and eventually a dessert wine which I suspect was actually just children's cough syrup from the local Boots), NOT BE SEXUALLY HARASSED OKAY. Oh patriarchy, you so crazy. Of course a table full of attractive women who are enjoying each other's company are CLEARLY in want of a man to sort them out, right?
That aside, I had a great time, and my actual birthday brought more wondrous things, like a surprise manicure (my girlfriend took time out of her busy schedule of setting up HER SISTER IN LAW'S WEDDING THAT WAS THE NEXT DAY and oh the small thing of having three kids and generally being always everything everywhere to treat me, and that was truly touching.) a romantic dinner with my husband that evening with the most gorgeous food I've ever seen, and a cheeky pint at a pub we'd never tried before.
It was really the best, and DS got a kick out of my balloons, and on most mornings since has woken up with a resounding, "Happy Bersssday Mummy!!!"
Who has got 2 thumbs and amazing friends and family? This gal.
X
Friday, July 26, 2013
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Caffeine is required.
Okay.
So...........I know originally I said I was going to keep this blog light and positive and funny, AND I am happy to do this, when I am feeling these things. But, I also feel it's important to make it a fair reflection of The Motherhood.
Today, I am struggling. DS is a high energy, very bright and exhausting child. This morning he was up at 5:45. DH got up with him initially, I took over at 6:30. He's the kind of child who is 0-60MPH from the second his eyes open, to the second they close at night. (Which is sometimes a two hour plus ordeal, but that's an entry for another day.)
I can deal with it. I love him. It's putting me through my paces, and I am fairly confident he will mellow in the next couple of years and we can all look back at how frantic it all was and laugh, tossing our heads triumphantly into the sun of a bright afternoon while we sip lattes and turn appreciative looks of pity unto the young frantic mothers who pass us by, so much like our former selves it endears stranger to stranger.
But right now, today, when I look around all I see is how DS is nothing like the other children in his football class. He is the only one to display such unbridled enthusiasm and zero attention on the activity. He is simultaneously enraptured and torn away from attentiveness, resulting in a flux of in/out/in/out levels of comprehension. Worse still, he has a mean streak, and when he works himself up into a frenzy, he lashes out. Not often, mind you, but any time at all is enough to make me feel like bursting into tears, putting my hand up and declaring that it is I, the young rubbish mum, who brought forth into the world the feral child who just smacked yours. Please accept my apologies. Pass your judgement. Go on, etc.
Of course, I take a deep breath, I catch myself from falling into the pit of despair and I remind myself that he is at a difficult age, all children have different personalities, he will mature, he is kind hearted, and mainly the people around me offer gentle looks of commiseration and support. They toss their shoulders up and shake their heads, smiles creeping across their faces as they do so, as if to say. "Been there."
It is true. We've most of us Been There. When you are there it is quite easy to listen only to the harsh whispers of an ignorant few; those that have never had a small human, or have simply allowed the years to dull memories of the sheer terror of the Been There days. Far too easy to superimpose angry mob faces onto harmless strangers; fellow parents, nobodies, everybodies.
I am going to keep breathing, keep reassuring myself that I am not Rubbish Mum Ruining The Child, and maybe tomorrow we won't be here.
It's getting easier, even as I write.
X
So...........I know originally I said I was going to keep this blog light and positive and funny, AND I am happy to do this, when I am feeling these things. But, I also feel it's important to make it a fair reflection of The Motherhood.
Today, I am struggling. DS is a high energy, very bright and exhausting child. This morning he was up at 5:45. DH got up with him initially, I took over at 6:30. He's the kind of child who is 0-60MPH from the second his eyes open, to the second they close at night. (Which is sometimes a two hour plus ordeal, but that's an entry for another day.)
I can deal with it. I love him. It's putting me through my paces, and I am fairly confident he will mellow in the next couple of years and we can all look back at how frantic it all was and laugh, tossing our heads triumphantly into the sun of a bright afternoon while we sip lattes and turn appreciative looks of pity unto the young frantic mothers who pass us by, so much like our former selves it endears stranger to stranger.
But right now, today, when I look around all I see is how DS is nothing like the other children in his football class. He is the only one to display such unbridled enthusiasm and zero attention on the activity. He is simultaneously enraptured and torn away from attentiveness, resulting in a flux of in/out/in/out levels of comprehension. Worse still, he has a mean streak, and when he works himself up into a frenzy, he lashes out. Not often, mind you, but any time at all is enough to make me feel like bursting into tears, putting my hand up and declaring that it is I, the young rubbish mum, who brought forth into the world the feral child who just smacked yours. Please accept my apologies. Pass your judgement. Go on, etc.
Of course, I take a deep breath, I catch myself from falling into the pit of despair and I remind myself that he is at a difficult age, all children have different personalities, he will mature, he is kind hearted, and mainly the people around me offer gentle looks of commiseration and support. They toss their shoulders up and shake their heads, smiles creeping across their faces as they do so, as if to say. "Been there."
It is true. We've most of us Been There. When you are there it is quite easy to listen only to the harsh whispers of an ignorant few; those that have never had a small human, or have simply allowed the years to dull memories of the sheer terror of the Been There days. Far too easy to superimpose angry mob faces onto harmless strangers; fellow parents, nobodies, everybodies.
I am going to keep breathing, keep reassuring myself that I am not Rubbish Mum Ruining The Child, and maybe tomorrow we won't be here.
It's getting easier, even as I write.
X
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)