The lowdown

I got flowers delivered to work yesterday. My man is so sweet. I accidentally gave him a peak inside my crazy brain the night before and I think he is genuinely scared for me. He got really sick last night, fevers and chills and shivers. The whole shabang. I was up and down all night feeling helpless, fetching him water and my secret stash of the really good cold and flu pills. I feel guilty that I'm adding to his already bread-winning-man-of-the-house sized stress load. He's at work now but I'm expecting a phone call to pick him up any minute. Axel is going bat shit crazy over a bunny cartoon on the tv, apparently he's been waiting all morning for this one. The dogs are whining for attention on the veranda because it's raining and I won't let them inside. The dishes aren't done and the sheets are in the dryer and that's the end of my interesting life.

I went to the local Irish pub with my sister in law on Thursday night. One of the girls from work left her husband the day before so we jumped on that excuse to act like complete fools. I am embarrassed, and still paying for it today. It's probably about time I recognise that I am developing a bit of a reliance on booze. Time for a break me thinks; not having a drink until I go home to ma and pa's for Easter. Let's see how that goes.

And I'm outey!

This Is Not A Stick

Axel has this book that he really loves. He asks me to read it all the time, so much so that I sort of hide it under other books to avoid it. Easier books to read. Ones where the emphasis is obvious and preferably rhyming. This Is Not A Stick. It's not a long book, but it's sort of difficult to make it interesting. Well obviously that's only my adult ideal anyway because if Axel sees it he demands I read it.

These last few days I've been bobbing in the waves of stupid depression. I hate saying the word. But I can't really avoid it when I know it. The interwebs are at my fingertips. I have a brain. I know I have depression. I have tried to seek help, honestly. I have seen a few different doctors, spoke to my partner, my mother. The very first time I brought it up to my GP was at Axel's 10 day check up. She told me it would pass. Even before that, when I was pregnant, the midwife doing a checkup at the hospital picked up that there was potential for problems, but all she needed to hear was me saying I felt fine. Anyway, back to the bobbing. Sort of out of nowhere this week I had a jolting realization that as bad as I feel, as much as I loathe myself, I really, really love my kid. It's not like I didn't love him already, or didn't know it, but just this week it struck me that those feelings are there. The ones of complete amazement and adoration, as opposed to the ones of necessity and biological expectation. The ones whose absence haunted me when he was a tiny baby. So why do I still feel so shitty? Does this mean my brain is just generally fucked, instead of post-partum fucked?

I was laying on the lounge this morning at the crack of a sparrow's fart watching Angela Anaconda with Axel (lately sleep ins aren't the in thing in his world, it's cartoons as early as he can get me to open his door). He got up off his Lightning McQueen couch and asked me if my ear still hurt. I said "no baby, not hurt, just annoying" on account of my stupid ear is still blocked up. He looked at me with this expression far beyond his years, then climbed up on the lounge chair, kissed my ear and said "this is not an ear".

What do I do now?

Sunday

I'm feckin stressed. It's been a difficult few days, starting off with some petty fights and culminating with me sitting alone all night beating myself up about this and that. Just when I think I'm good, I'm on top of things, something really insignificant sees me tumble down and split my head open on the floor. It's such a cruel, bitter cycle. The lower I go, the more I loathe myself, which sinks me a little bit lower than I thought there was.

Meanwhile, my motherfucking ears are still blocked. I'm going to have to find time this week to see a doctor and hopefully get a referral to an ENT specialist. Because doctors in Brisbane are so helpful. I'm sure that'll go to plan.

At the forefront of my mind today has been the feeling of ultimate failure. I can't tolerate anything Axel does because I can't speak to him without the right side of my head slitting open and my brains falling out (it feels). This is followed by that familiar Sunday afternoon mama guilt; back to work tomorrow and I don't get to spend a single day with my son until next weekend. And I haven't done anything for him all weekend. I've sat in a pool of self pity. Something has got to give.

I could bitch and moan all night, but instead I'm going to play solitaire.

Why I'm anti undies (now)

How about potty training hey? That's the whole joke right there. This morning my clever/evil genius decided it was a good day to go commando. He has been doing so well at daycare using the big boy toilet, and we all know undies don't work in the Q household, so commando seemed reasonable. Previous undies attempts have all ended in the same fashion; Axel standing legs apart giggling and pointing as he wees in them. No, giggling isn't the right description. Cackling like an evil villain. Yeah.

Last Saturday we had a mostly successful day of commando, so I had no reason to fear it this morning. I didn't bank on Axel knowing where to find some clean undies. That he enjoys weeing in. On my new rug. That is very hard to clean. I understand toilet training comes with accidents, but malicious wee attacks are hard to stomach early on a Saturday morning. So that's why I hid all the undies.

Shaturday

Last Saturday I woke with this damn dirty cold. The whole week has been tremendously hard. Work has bent me over with unreliable staff and an unusually busy week, and with the cold getting worse and worse I've been dreaming of Saturday morning. I thought there was no way a stupid cold in summer would last more than seven days. I had visions of waking up this morning and breathing through ALL of my nostrils.

Nuh.

Also, I would like to ask the universe why my two and a half year old suddenly likes waking at the first sparrow's fart? Man, up until this age he was a better sleep-inner than me. There were plenty of Saturday mornings prior where me and his dad would look at each other with concern at 10am wondering if he'd been sneaking out to parties already. Not no more no how. Right now he's yelling at me to cook him eggs. I can only hear him out of the good ear; the one that didn't burst when I tried to blow my nose before... happy weekend!

Amy the Irresponsible

I just got home from my usual Thursday evening routine; impulse buying crap I don't need simply because I have an hour to kill between work finishing and kindy ending, and it's late night shopping right! The shops are open, there are clothes everywhere just looking at me, asking me to try them on. This evening I was particularly irresponsible. Not only did I purchase three items (two dresses and a demin vest) that I'm pretty sure I'd survive without, but both dresses are long enough to trip me over and they didn't have my size in the vest so I just went down one. Ha, silly consumer whore!

It's been one heck of a week at work. Understaffed thanks to uni starting back and colds and sprained ankles, and man have I been sick. The cold and flu season always makes me its bitch. So it was pretty easy for me to convince myself I deserved two new dresses and a demin jacket one size too small. Now if only I could afford to get out and wear my pretty new items!

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In other news, we found out yesterday that my sister in law from hell... uh I mean, from Boondall is 5.5 months pregnant. Not so nice that she didn't bother to tell anyone, but hey, I'm happy for her! In fact, I'm all up in that with tingly clucky jealousy. I can't wait til it's my turn to get round and sick and uncomfortable again, although I can't really place why. I keep mentioning this to Rick and he keeps chucking anything shiny he can find at me to distract me. He has offered to go ahead with the deck renovations I've wanted since we moved in (which would mean not leaving work for at least another 18 months), and keeps talking about overseas holidays for the three of us. But it's all good. Whatever is meant to be will be. Chyeah.

Hello old gal

I extended the olive branch to that horrible woman my fiancé was born after today. I know there is absolutely no point, but at least I feel like the bigger person now. It was even in retaliation to the latest accusation; that I have been logging into her facebook and leaving her nasty messages. Ah well, I just want to move on and embrace a calmer zen approach to in laws. I get along with the rest of them anyway. And this way, if the horrible one does come to our wedding she has nothing to throw at me except pure jealousy, which lets face it, I can catch and enjoy.

Oh yeah, wedding planning. The date is set, the venue is booked, the celebrant has pink hair, the dress is hanging up in the spare room, deposits have been put down on flowers and bridesmaid dresses are being made [in a sweatshop in China] as I type. It's all happening baby! Things left to do are:
-Rick's ring
-suits for the guys
-suit for the small guy
-shoes (won some on ebay that haven't arrived yet but I recognise that's risky)
-favours (stubby coolers fyeah!)

Aaand that's about it. The little things like table seating and hair and makeup can wait til we get a bit closer I think. Oh and there's the small matter of a big deposit of fat sitting across my rock hard abs. I need to sort that out before the dress that's hanging in my spare room will actually do up. But I've got months! Right?