I had a bad day last Wednesday. Sadly, it was an inopportune day to have a bad day due to The Wedding.
The day started pretty poorly and my mood rapidly descended into a depressive state.
Let me begin at the beginning. We got up as normal. Well, pretty normal from what I remember. The Toddler had a [chest infection] so she was probably later and more drowsy than she would be usually. Before I’d had a chance to have a shower, we’d gone downstairs for breakfast. OH was going for a cut throat shave with the groom and as it was only 9 am (The Wedding was not due to start until 2.30 pm) I figured we would have plenty of time to get ready when OH returned. A cut throat shave was predicted to take an hour.
As with everything I plan (and I really should know this by now!) I was WRONG!
10am came and went. I was hoping to be relieved soon…and, after a morning of once again leaving me to fend for myself, OH finally returned just after 11 announcing we were giving the groom a lift.
Already the relaxed morning with my small family I had envisioned in my head was,wrecked and we now had the added pressures of trying to get everyone ready (including best man and flower girl and eating lunch) in two hours so we could get the groom to the registry office on time.
Cue my blood pressure rising.
I finally stepped in the shower as OH was dressing The Toddler in her ivory dress.
When I plan something revolving around an important date/time/event, I become hyper sensitive to any deviations from the timetable. An hour delay and running round after both kids on my own for the morning was a.massive deviation. The negativity was already in my tummy, waiting to explode…
And explode it did when, after failing (notice the excessive use of this word!) To get my hair correct and OH badgering me to sort out children as well as myself I had reached the end of my already short fuse. He was desperately trying to squeeze her into her flower girl dress and was struggling. And he asked me to help and…
I hurled the hairbrush in his general direction, found some jeans and a T-shirt and went downstairs to put myself in front of the TV for the evening.
It took a lot of begging for him to get me to.put my dress on, slap on some makeup and get going.
I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to see other people. My temper was already frayed. I already felt abandoned and insecure. So I probably would have been better off staying at home.
Nevertheless, we got to the registry office and met OHs parents. OH unloaded the Toddler from the car…in a car park. His mum took over looking after her as OH had to go and do best man things and I tried desperately to persuade O it was a good idea to feed before we went in.
I was lucky. He fed. Doubly lucky…he shit himself. Great. A big one. A nearly down the leg job. So I we got the pushchair out, shoved him in it and I began to change him.
The bride arrived and the car wouldn’t come in as she didn’t want anyone to see her. I was still changing a mustardy bum. No help from OH.
I got his nappy on, covered his legs with a shawl and went inside.
Once we were all,stood outside the door I realised the grooms step sister was wearing the same dress. Oh God. Sigh. Ok, I resigned myself to the fact that this was going to.be one of those days. I shoved Os shorts back on, the doors were opened and I found a seat at the back.
Turns out O didn’t want to watch his sister do her thing and began howling, so I took him back out to the car.
I fed. I cried. I fed some more. OH came out to say they hadn’t started and I could still go in. I refused. OHs mum came out five minutes later and I told her O wouldn’t settle and it wasn’t that big a deal.
I lied. He slept calmly on my shoulder the entire ceremony that I couldnt see from my not ideal vantage point of the passenger seat of my Ford Focus.
I cried more. Made sure my make-up hadn’t run. Regretted not going in as I had missed an opportunity to promote breastfeeding in a wedding ceremony. OHs BIL had to bring one of the Cousins out too which made me feel better.
Everyone was so proud of the Toddler. Even I had to admit she looked adorable even though daddy hadn’t been able to tame her mop of wild curls.
I wanted to come home. I wasn’t in the mood for partying, particularly as I knew what it would entail. The same thing it normally entails. Me looking after the kids and him getting to have a laugh.
This stubbornness/ lack of wanting to feel further abandoned and feeling awful, tired, sad, insecure and generall shit resulted in us fighting in the carpark in front of OHs parents. Grandma and Grandpa took the Toddler in and OH and I had a chat.
He managed to persuade me to come in. I chucked O in his sling and went in.
On the whole it wasn’t too bad. My jangling nerves and feelings of abject shame and guilt took a little while to calm. I did look after her as she was still suffering from her chest infection and needed cuddles and kisses and OH, as usual, went to socialise.
It ended fairly well, but just serves as a reminder that no matter how much better I am now, I can still feel the irrational anger and self loathing enough to make me miss important moments.