Monthly Archives: September 2011

Damage limitation

For all intents and purposes, I am a damaged person.  I am damaged by my parents’ divorce and the reasons for the marriage breakdown. I am damaged by my brothers anger. I am damaged by the bullying I took as a child. Im damaged by the lies I dealt when i was 16.  I’m damaged by an abusive relationship. Im damaged by cheating on someone who loved me unconditionally. I’m damaged by a boy who questioned everything I said and then cheated on me.

These things made me strong.

They also made me very weak.

Everytime I shout at her, I’m damaging her. Everytime I have to physically remove her, or push her away because she is kicking her brother I’m damaging her. Every time I get so close to The Edge with her, I damage her. When I call her names, even in jest, I damage her. When I go to bed without a goodnight, I damage her.  When we leave her to cry, I damage her.

I don’t ever want her to go through the darkness. I never want to see her have a catastrophic confidence failure.  I will blame myself, just like my mum blamed herself. 

It wasn’t my mums fault that I was hurting.  But it will be my fault if my little girl goes through this.

I would like some damage limitation. An intervention. 



I am fucking furious. And desperate and feel like I need to rip my skin off in frustration.

If you’re offended by bollocking shitty wank bad fucking language, look away now, cocksuckers. If you can tolerate a liberal f bomb, keep reading.

You see, my day was crap. After the kids both refused lunch, she kicked off. Screaming, throwing herself off things, onto things and generally winding me up. It doesn’t help that it’s hot. And I fucking hate being hot. 

So, after demanding toast and hitting her brother then waking him up with her screeching, I decided to walk to the shops to get some ballet pump style shoes as mine are unlikely to arrive.

What a fucking joke.

I started walking and sweating.  There was a couple in front of me walking two fucking horrible stinky manky dogs. She let one of them drop a fresh turd on the path…I didn’t see it until the fucking thing coated my front wheel.

I never did like dogs.

I swore. A lot. I cleaned as much off as I could with my shoes. I was furious. Still am actually, in case you hadn’t noticed.

Then I get to the shops. Perfect shoes are on the shelf. Size 5. Size 7. I’m a six. Thet have no sixes. What the actual fuck? So I try to find another pair of shoes. O starts howling like he is in absolute agony. And coughing. And spluttering. So I give up. I have no shoes. I pick up pizza for dinner and go to the check out. Obviously she picks up the whole stack of baskets and tries to bring them through. 

I pay. Successfully. Then steam home. Get to the cut way and some c word has blocked it with his car WHICH HE IS STILL SAT IN!! I shoot him a look to kill and walk round, sweating and smelling of rancid dog shit. 

The dinner wouldn’t fit in our fridge. So I left it on the kitchen floor.

So, she’s playing up. I’ve hurt my throat shouting at her. And I’m watching all the neighbourhood kids fuck around outside my house. I swear if one of them so much as dares to fuck around with me, I will not hesitate to throw them both barrels of venom.

Sometimes I want to rip my own skin off.

It’s never simple

How how how did everything end up so complicated?

Is it any wonder I have “the mentals”?

Every day something seems to compromise my extremely delicate mental state.

Yesterday it was the lack of salonwear.

Then the rhyme time failure where some newbie, fresh faced teen mums thought that I was evidentally deaf and couldn’t hear them criticising me after the Toddler threw a library book.

Today it was not being able to park at the park…compounded by shitting it about tomorrow.  I’m not scared about class. I’m scared of not getting everything done.

And then topped off by both children refusing to eat.

You see, I need to get my kit tomorrow, after I haved fed O and tried to express off some fresh milk to go in the fridge.

Then lunch and more expression after his feed (if he sleeps) then cooking tea and getting him to nap until 6ish. 

I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if he’ll take it.  This is a very complex arrangement.  So complex that I’m getting a complex about it.

And there will be no one here to bring my shoes in so I’ll have to find time to go and get them.


Even the most simple things in my life become tangled little knots of crap that I have to unpick while getting kicked in the face. 



If I were superstitious (which I secretly am) I would be taking this weekend as an omen…and not in a good way.

I loved the course on Thursday. My tutor is great, the other ladies are fab.  Ok I’m a baby bore and my boobs were once again the centre of attention, but they can’t help it.

As part of the course – and it is part of the course; don’t do it and you fail – we have to look the part, including buying a kit for oils and full salonwear.

Well, firstly I couldn’t find salon shoes in my size.

Then we went on Saturday to get my kit from a specialist retailer and they were shut.  Yes, shut on a Saturday.

We checked opening hours – open Sunday 10 – 1…

So we went back.

They had had 4 delivered and they were all gone.

What are the odds?

Now I’m not only worried about local competition from ladies already trained in Health and Beauty (I’m barely managing to keep up my new skincare routine in order to look the part!) My brain is going a mile a minute trying to figure out how to pick up this kit on Thursday before my course and fit in the million other things that need doing.

I wish I could just put it down to being just one of those things.


We’ve had some bloody big buggers this year. Won’t even fit in a pint glass.

I hate them. They freak me out. They move too fast. I can’t help it.
My plan was to raise my children with a healthy fear of these creatures but, as you will see, I have failed miserably.

Our first SRI (Spider Related Incident) happened when the Toddler was about 14 months. We gave her some cardboard tubes to play with. You know, the big ones from the middle of wrapping paper. She would use them as trumpets, megaphones, swords or a walking stick.  She also liked to poke them behind the telly.

One day, she poked, went to put the tube to her face but noticed something.

“Mummy!” She said, hand in pincer position.

“What have you got?” I asked, stupidly holding out my hand. She drops the curled up carcass of one of those super spindly spiders with the teeny bodies into my hand and toddles of, blowing her newly cleaned trumpet. Thanks child.

The second incident, and by far the worst, happened when she was about 18 months old.  It was a Monday night so we were at mums. I think we had eaten our dinner and pudding and she was becoming idle waiting for OH to finish playing footy.  She wandered up the opposite end of the room, bent down and plucked something up off the floor.

“RAISIN!” She cried gleefully, popping it into her mouth.

It took a second before I thought “Wait…mum doesn’t have any raisins…”

I jumped to my feet and ran over to her, jamming my finger in her mouth only to fish out…

Yes, it was a big bugger. Already dead with its legs curled under it before she got to it.  She hadn’t managed to chew it, so it was pretty intact. 

You may puke now.

The third incident which proves that my fear breeding is failing happened this evening.

She was emptying out the new blocks bag I made her when her eagle eyes zoom in on something and she picks it up.

“Spider! Look!” She was excited. I was far away. Daddy was closer.

“She’s got a spider.” I prompt OH. I’m a serious wuss about them. He leans forward to have a look but can’t see.  Just to be on the safe side, and because handling them is also beyond his confort zone, he picks up a block and asks her to drop it in so he can look at it.  She does so with relish.  She wants to see it crawling around.

He looks at it.

“It’s a piece of grass.” He says, tossing out the window just in case.


O refused the bottle.

He refused my lovingly pumped breastmilk.

OH managed to spoonfeed him 2oz.

When I got back I latched him on in his sleep and he fully emptied my poor booby. But only one.  Then he woke every couple of hours in the night. Not ideal, but for now we can work with it.

I had 6oz of milk in the fridge which needed drinking. O isn’t going to do it, so I decided I was going to make a coffee with it. Waste not want not right?

Before pouring it in my drink I checked it as it had been in the fridge for about 27 hours.

Sweet…then OMFG disgusting.  The bitter soapy after taste was foul. Like when you get earwax on your tongue.  I do not blame O for his refusal and I feel bad that he ended up having 2oz.

OH said he tasted it last night and it was just sweet, so it’s possible it was past its best. 

So now I’m considering ditching the other 14 + oz and just pumping Wednesday night, Thursday morning and Thursday lunchtime to get about 6oz of fresh milk to keep him going.

And there was I hoping pumping would make this simple.

So I haven’t blogged in a couple of days..

But I have been writing.

I haven’t been able to find time to get to the computer so blogging has been limited. Most of my writing has been done old school.

Anyway, today I am having a complete confidence failure.

What if I’m late?

What if I’m early?

What if they’re pissed off because until I purchase my salon stuff all I have are maternity jeans, old t-shirts and trainers to wear?

What if they decide the outbreak on my chin is a hygiene fail?

What if one of my kids gets sick today?

What if I get sick today?

What if my period comes back and I don’t have pads?

What if my boobs become so painful I can’t take part?

What if my boobs spray milk everywhere DURING taking part?

What if O doesn’t eat before I go?

What if he needs feeding but refuses the bottle and spoon?

What if the milk I’ve expressed and lovingly cared for is sour?

What if they don’t like me?

What if I don’t like them?

What if I don’t like doing it?

What if I think positively for just a second?

What if it’s fabulous?

What if it changes my life?

What if I meet some wonderful people?

What if O takes the milk no problems?