Chubby wubby

I have had a crap day.

That's about it.

Things that happened today that are crap include (but are not limited to):

• My boss asking me if I was pregnant. It's a mistake people make I suppose, but there are a few factors that make it super crappo: for one Maxx is a man, and no man should ever comment on a woman's weight. For twofer, when I said I was certainly not pregnant he said "then why are you getting... more chubby". And for threez, I have been SO STRICT lately with my diet and exercise on account of I am getting hitched in five tiny short weeks. And my dress don't do up!
• I lost a friend. Once a great friend, in recent months almost a distant acquaintance, but in any case the person I asked to be my bridesmaid. I am not going to dwell or cry over her because I can honestly say (for once in my life?) that I am not at fault and I acted maturely and diplomatically. Well, as diplomatically as you can when you're having your squeezed and strangled heart handed to you in a doggy bag. Young people, pffsh.
• Thirdly... well I don't actually have a third. And that my friends is why I'm happy to wait and blog while my beautiful man uses every last drop of hot water in the system. Because when he gets out we're going to enjoy a nice double malt scotch together and watch some Sex and the City. Because I trained him to do that.

Blogging to the sound of Cops

Six weeks til the wedding! So much to do, yet so little motivation. I'm starting to panic about being a fatty boombah now; I think it's necessary to lost at least 2 kg to fit into that big white sucker. I'm Zen on the rest of the wedding front; a big hurdle was the honeymoon because we couldn't agree on a destination, and then there was the minor matter of firing a bridesmaid. But that's all sorted now, leaving me the victor and the nasty cow all at once. I know I did the right thing, and the most upsetting part wasn't her reaction but the fact that I had to do it in the first place. Someone I thought was a genuine friend turned out to be nothing more than a friend-fling, a fleeting relationship built on an in-genuine personality. Bummer.

It's all good though. I am a very lucky lady (as I type this my husband-to-be is throwing hot wheels cars at me and tooting from the arse.. hot). I'm fighting each and every day to stay in a positive mindset with my crappy work life and the terrible twos and the constant pain of a neglected rotting tooth, but look at what I have on the way.. a marriage to a man who treats me like a princess, a 7 day honeymoon in bali, and as if that's not all enough, tickets to State of Origin woohoo!

Things are going good guns.

Bullets

Hey bloggy. It's Sunday, and I'm enduring my Work-Tomorrow-Blues with a glass of scotch. I had something rather important to say (haha, as if), but instead I'll just babble some things off in bullet form so you know what's going on in the exciting life of Amy.

• I'm addicted to tumblr. But it's stupid and I don't like it at the same time.
• The puppy is doing so well with his injuries. He hasn't complained once.
• The bigger, problematic dog barred up at a mother walking her dog with her baby today. Not cool, not happy, she's moving out.
• We can't afford a honeymoon anymore, thanks to above bullet point.
• A girl I used to work with got married yesterday and posted some pictures on facebook today. As pathetic as it is, I was so pleased to see she's gotten a bit fat and had a plain dress. HA, that's what you get for spreading porkies about me four years ago!

That's all. Cheers!

Threes

It has been a tough few days. Tough doesn't quite do it justice.. It has been a FUCKED few days.

*clears throat*

Things were good, I had a sweet day at the races on Saturday, then BAM! Rick's car broke down.

Sunday night we chilled on the couch after a visit with Rick's dad. Dozing off to sleep together, BAM! The dogs have a massive fight resulting in a $2200 vet bill.

Monday morning Rick has to drop me off to work in my car so he can take the dog to the vet, BAM! My car decides to die after we stop to fuel up.

Seriously, rough few days for our bank account and for our stress levels. I can only hope these things know that old adage "all things happen in threes". Unfortunately for me, it feels like the three thousands. For one, my problemo el wisdom teeth is building. And two, I am on day four of my third attempt of antidepressants. I've been so nauseas. I am feeling very negative about going back on them which makes me wonder if negativity will stop them from working (because at the center of all of this, I still think it's all in my head). But whatever, we'll see. I guess for now I should just go with it and be pleased that I don't burst into tears at weird intervals for no foreseeable reason.

Anyway, whatever. For now it's heads down as Rick and I work our butts off to pay for the vet bills our furry children have caused. We used our wedding funds, so we have a bit of a way to make up now to pay for our reception and celebrant (yay us!). My lovely bosses gave me a bonus this week to show their appreciation for how awesome I am, which really brightened my mood at work. So now I'll just shut my whiney mouth and do some work!

Ciao

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.