Is today over yet?

Someone has stolen my son. They have replaced him with an angry unreasonable demon that I can’t wait to put to bed.

Hubs has popped out for afternoon tea with a friend (how very British!) and I’m stuck with the spawn of Hades. He’s poured squash on the carpet. Tried to pour it in the wheetabix tin. Tried to kick Captain and laughed at me when I told him off, demanded an apple that he’s not frigging eating and had an absolute shit fit when I sat down with some cashew nuts. He didn’t want to share he wanted them all. So stormed out of the living room into the hallway, shut the door only to (frequently) open it and shout ‘That’s mine mummy!’

Can’t a girl eat a bowl of nuts in peace? Can’t she do the ironing without the little sod throwing a ball at her? Can’t her offspring listen when she tells him to stop pouring squash over his trousers?!

Not. Today.

I am in the ‘very to extremely’ pregnant bracket now and tired. I’m so tired I could cry. All I was is a nap and a snack I can eat without being shouted at. That’s not unreasonable is it?

He’s been affectionate at times today, but that’s mostly involved climbing on me and jabbing bump with all his pointy limbs. In fact most of his affection today has been downright painful.

In my head, there are so many things I’d like to do. Like carry on sorting the room THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A FINISHED NURSERY BY THE END OF OCTOBER!! I need to get the pictures up in the hall. The same pictures I’ve been meaning to do for over a year. I need to dust the light on the landing that has now become a giant spider palace. I need to get that last bookcase out of the ‘nursery’ I need to investigate why the bald kitten from Hades’ teddies smell mouldy and I need to wash them. I need to clean the cupboard by the cooker. It’s truly revolting in there which is weird as it’s mostly got boxes of tea in it.

And I need to get my head around the fact that I’m having a baby in February. Because I haven’t got my head round it yet. Not even close.

But I don’t want to do any of those things.

I. Just. Want. To. Sleep.

That is not an option. So we I’ll try and neutralise the demon with a bubble bath…

In other news:

I’ve been listening to Christmas songs. This will form my daily soundtrack from now until NYE.

90% of my house is sticky.

I think the bald kitten is having a poo as I type. This really is the day that keeps on giving.

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GTT HELL

I am currently sat STARVING waiting for two sodding hours after drinking a disgusting volume of glucose to check to see if I have gestational diabetes.

I could save them some time, I tried to save them some time by telling them I don’t have gestational diabetes, but hey what do I know?

I have fasted for this. I’m so hangry I nearly legged up the selfish twat who walked past me EATING A BAG OF CRISPS. Does he not know there is a hungry mama here?

Last time I endured this horror we went to the hospital, hubs and I sat next to what can only be described as THE SMELLIEST FAMILY ON THE PLANET. I mean good grief! I kept gagging it was so awful. Then what an onlooker would describe as a sweet old man hobbled past with a trolley. Except he wasn’t a sweet old man, HE WAS A SADISTIC OLD BASTARD parading a trolley crammed with sweets, chocolate and crisps THAT I COULDN’T EAT. Parading his wares to a room chock full of hungry preggos. Did I mention that in addition to fasting last night I now have to sit for two whole hours not eating before I get jabbed with a needle so they can send off my blood AND TELL ME WHAT I ALREADY KNOW. I’m getting strong movements from bump, pretty sure it’s trying to get hold of a phone so it can call childline.

I’m not in the hospital today, so far no doddery old farts pushing sweetie laden trolleys to take out although I have just seen a woman throw-up all over the reception desk.

And another lady shout to her son ‘Armani! Get here. (Addressing patients) You don’t have to fucking stare at me. I hate coming here every time I do it just takes the piss’

I’m hangry enough to tell her if she didn’t walk round shouting profanities, maybe people wouldn’t stare. But I don’t think she’d know what profanity means and I’m quite sure she’d hit me and I’ve been specifically told to keep still so I don’t wear the glucose off.

I’m now trying to decide if puking lady and shouty lady are better or worse than smelly family. But as this is the last baby I plan on having it’s not really something I have to worry about.

I’ve got an hour and 14 minutes to go then hubs is on strict instructions to take us to Mac Donald’s. I’m ordering the menu.

In other news:

The bald kitten’s eye seem miraculously non-slimy today.

Captain demonstrated his love for me by sleeping on my face last night.

The chair I’m currently sitting on in this Zeus forsaken waiting room is apparently my arse’s worst enemy.

Shopping Woes.

It’s official.

Shopping is now shit.

This is aside from the fact that there is naf all attire for preggos on the high street.

It’s the behaviour of my son. He is now a ball bag of monumental proportions anytime we go near anything that resembles a shop. For starters HE WILL NOT GO IN HIS PUSHCHAIR. I made the fatal mistake of putting him in one on Friday after a coffee with mum in Waterstones because a game of ‘Put the book back darling’ which in my head was a game of ‘put that fucking book back and finish your drink that I’ve just paid through the arse for!!’

(I’d like to point out we were nowhere near the children’s section, he’d pulled an anthology of poetry off the shelf and when I asked him to put it back he pouted and started bending the book. I took it off him so he didn’t damage it and I’d have to pay a tenner for a massive book of shit poems. Removing the book from his possession caused a screamathon. It’s fun when everyone stares.)

Anyway, I put him in his pushchair. He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. He started choking on his own tears. He threw Miaow Miaow on the floor then asked to be handed his beloved soft toy, only to throw the bloody thing on the floor again.

He tried getting out of the straps. I put them back on. More screaming.

Why not let him walk? I hear you cry.

That is indeed an option. But this issue is this: the boy doesn’t run away in shops, he stops.

Dead.

And he

will

not

move.

I coax, bribe, cajole, get firm, pretend to leave and nothing works. The little sod just stands there with his arms crossed frowning at me like I’ve just shit on a puppy. If nothing works I go and get him. I hate physically moving him but I’m not standing in boots for nine hours whilst he looks wistfully at the cover of a craft beer book. I take him by the hand and try to talk him into moving and OF COURSE he’s having none of it. He does that thing kids do and just drops like his bones are jelly. So I pick him up (he’s usually wailing by this point) but I’m pregnant I can’t carry him for long periods of time so the idea is to pick him up calm him down and get him in the pushchair.

Predictably he refuses the pushchair. Says wants to walk. I try to put him down and the kid contorts more than someone having an exorcism in an effort not to let ANY part of him make contact with the floor because he wants to be carried. We then get a repeat of the being put in the pushchair tantrum.

I can take people staring and I can handle the behaviour. But I don’t want to.

I don’t want to have to narrate the whole time, I get sick of the sound of my own bloody voice and exhausted at the same time.

We popped into a shop called Dunelm today. Daddy was with us and the boy performed again. Hubs got gradually more frustrated as behaviour took a nose dive and we left before we’d looked at everything we wanted to.

I get that the shops don’t hold a lot of pull for him, but am I selfish for doing something I want instead of swimming or soft-play for him? I don’t spend long in the shops, I just want to do something adult. I’m already dreading trying to get round the shops with two of them!

In other news:

Potty training imminent.

New bathroom should be finished TOMORROW. I can’t wait for there not to be strangers in my house!

Little pea kicked hard enough for hubs to feel it the other day.

18 weeks – feels remarkably like all the other weeks so far.

My belly is a now constant reminder that I have a little pea swimming about in my uterus. I’m starting to feel the swimming which is very reassuring.

Speaking of swimming, Will started lessons four weeks ago. They’re all about getting the little one used to water and swim ready. There are songs and games and LOTS of splashing. It’s quite a workout for us as there is a lot of throwing the boy around. One of the exercises is to hold a novelty float and kick the water as an adult holds and guides you across the pool. Except Will doesn’t kick. He shouts ‘Weeeeeeeeeeee!’ with his feet sticking out of the water whilst hubs does all the work. It’s funny as hell but a tad frustrating when you’re repeating ‘kick, kick, kick!’ in a high pitched forced enthusiastic voice whilst he has a half an hour rest in the water. Hubs does the lesson with him as I’m not quite in a condition to throw a toddler about. I use the time to swim a few lengths. It’s nice to feel weightless for a bit and will be more so the more massive I get.

Today was busy, I had a lot to contend with; young teenaged girls showing off for the lanky teenaged lifeguard. Families treating the pool like it was a resort fun pool and throwing balls all over the sodding place, lanky teenaged lifeguard not noticing on account of the girls who seemed to be doing a lot of spinning? One of said girls climbed out of the pool in a teeny tiny bikini then slipped over, got up and did the over theatrical hysterical laughing and loudly telling her friend that she had just fallen over, to let anyone who might have seen it happen that she wasn’t completely mortified. I’m frankly quite jealous, if I’d have slipped over like that there’s no way in hell I could have got up so quickly.

We’ve visited friends this weekend and spent Saturday exploring Hampton Court Palace. The boy was fairly well behaved. We had a couple of public meltdowns, he loved stamping his feel in the large wooden floored rooms because it made a great sound. I do feel for the tourists with the audio guides as they had our little foghorn to contend with. The boy doesn’t see a rope barrier as something to keep behind and we uttered several frantic ‘Will, come here!’ Before we were told off or ejected. Although I have to say he senses the desperation in your voice and the more panicked you sound, the less likely he is to come back. Such fun!

We had a long drive home (got to love the M25) so swimming was a welcome stretch after being cooped up. We also had a mega tantrum in the services because we asked the bald kitten to put back a wheeled George Pig book, he didn’t want to put it back, he wanted us to cough up the £8 for it. When it became clear that would not be happening he screamed blue bloody murder. We were stared at. And across the car park as the tantrum continued which only stopped once he was strapped in his car seat. ‘Stopped crying now’ was the sentence for the next few miles.

Swimming has worn him out so definitely an early night. I can’t imagine hubs and I will be up more later. Tomorrow I have my whooping cough jab to look forward to.

In other news:

Marms, the majestic hunter that she is has just tried to catch a fly that’s on the other side of the window pane.

I nearly fainted today, turns out I’m a bit of a fainter in this pregnancy…

Holiday countdown has geared up a notch so the pressure is on to make sure the clothes are clean tomorrow instead of spending the day drinking tea and eating biscuits…

…and I’m broken.

The day started with the boy sat in a puddle of his own urine, and nappy so heavy with the stuff it could have been used to anchor a cruise ship.

We’ve played with the play-doh (two colours only, which I’m pleased to say have not been mixed) watched a few episodes the Twirly Woos (as many as I can watch before I want to slit my own throat. This number is rapidly decreasing.)

Then we went out. Our fridge is empty. Not empty but I could easily whip up two meals… it’s empty empty.

Knowing never to shop on an empty stomach I took the boy into M&S for some lunch. Will decided he wanted to sit on my lap, as that was the best place to be to wipe pasta sauce all over my clothes. Refusing to eat most of his pasta but giving all my food a good fingering I gave up on the whole lunch idea and headed to Tesco. I had the pushchair but Will was not strapped in, he was walking beside it. That way if he gets tired it’s there but I can also put my shopping basket in it and avoid the whole trolley tantrum scenario.

As we neared Next I decided to pop in and check the sale for boy’s sandals. The smell coming off his is quite frankly a health hazzard but due to the fashion season all I can get in the shops now are wellies and winter boots (just in time for August!) crocs and croc like shoes are available but no way in hell am I putting my boy in them. It’s bad enough pretending I don’t know my own mum when she insists on wearing them on holiday.

We got to the entrance and Will stopped in the doorway. He kept saying ‘bus’ I assume he meant the both shit and astronomically expensive kiddy ride outside Tesco. (A quid?! You can fuck right off!)

He wouldn’t move. And started to cry. No biggie. I tried the old walkin’ away trick. He moved closer but then started wailing so I decided the best course of action was to put him in his pushchair. That was a mistake.

He unleashed the demon.

And I burst into tears. In a shop. In public. I tried to power through. The boy was still screaming and I received a filthy look from a woman with a perhaps nine year old boy, obviously suffering from memory loss. Either that or her son was a robot.

Turns out I was unable to power through. Instead of buying much needed groceries we went to the car. Will looked confused as he was strapped into his car seat by a blubbering mess. The mess that sat in the car park for five minutes (crying) before driving home (still crying).

We got into the house, the boy had clearly forgotten his tantrum and tucked his Hey Duggee ‘Happy’ soft toy under my arm. (No, the irony was not lost on me.)

I’m not cross with the boy. He’s just being two. But I’m furious with myself for letting his tantrum get to me, and putting on such a spectacular public show of how not to parent. Or even adult. Surely I should have this down by now? To to be perfectly honest he’s done worse and that hasn’t made me spend the afternoon crying on and off.

I think I’m getting a migraine. Icing and cake much?

In other news:

Apparently when will yells ‘Fanny’ he means ‘rain’.

The boy pulled my dress up when I was getting off the loo, pointed at my lady parts and said ‘yuk’ earlier today. Do I top myself now or later?

The cats are taking advantage of the wet weather to get filthy and leave footprints all over the duvet. A hobby they’ve not had the opportunity to indulge in for quite some time.

The terrible twos… three months early.

The boy is entering a new phase. One that I hope will be over soon. Our once angelic, blue eyed, golden haired boy has changed to a blue eyed, golden haired tantrum machine. His brand new today thing is to shout ‘ow!’ When you try to move him/strap him into his car seat/ put his shoes on.

To the passer-by it looks as if this poor boy is being mistreated by his witch of a mother. To me (and others experiencing a similar phase) It’s the reason why we drink. Toddlers don’t care how loud they scream or how many people are around when they do it. To be perfectly honest I don’t care that much either but why do they insist on being at their worst with an audience? When I’m trying to get us home and he point blank refuses to get in the car:

‘Come on William, get in the car.’

‘We’re going home to see Daddy and the pussy cats.’

‘Come on in you get!’

*Resist urge to shout GET IN THE FUCKING CAR WILLIAM!!! Go to take his hand to lead him in*

He pulls away crouches in the street screaming. I pick him up to put him in the car, he arches his back screaming ‘No no no!’ Get him into car, try and get him in car seat he starts planking, try to bend child so I can get his seatbelt on. Child. Won’t. Bend. Wonder when my child was replaced by steel girder. Child become less plank like as occupied with hitting Mummy. Use window of flexibility to click in seatbelt. Say in calmest voice can muster ‘We don’t smack’, tighten seatbelt to ensure child safe. Child starts shouting ‘Ow! Ow! Owww!!’

Try and placate child with favourite toy.

Child throws favourite toy.

Clamber out and climb into drivers seat with toddler wailing in the back.

Ignore glares from passers by. Drive off with child still wailing.

Question life choices.

Every time we’ve got in the car today.

Every.

Time.

He’s also doing the fun thing of wanting something (food, toy, seat) then instantly changing his mind when he gets it. This causes a tantrum. We are at the mercy of the whim of a toddler. If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the summerhouse drinking wine.

In other news:

Writing this post was interrupted when the boy broke his ‘splat mat’ the one that only yesterday I insisted to friends was ‘very strong’. The boy thought pouring the water that was in it onto the carpet was lots of fun. I grabbed it off him, chucked it in the sink then started mopping up the puddle on the living room carpet. Whilst I was clearing up, the boy pulled the splat mat out of the sink and started pouring the water on the kitchen floor. Spinning round to ensure full cupboard coverage too. I got mad, he laughed at me.

Captain has been trying to catch bees in the garden. It’s obviously been a while since we’ve had an expensive vet bill.

My two year old niece (for reasons unknown) did a poo in her back garden today.

Public enemy number 1.

For some reason, I can do nothing right today. My son has spent the morning wailing. The causes have been various, his daddy went to work, I stopped him drinking my tea, I took the house phone off him, I had a shower, I took my foundation out of his mouth, I picked him up, I put him down… all sorts of unreasonable things a mother does! 

He’s currently stood on the sofa smacking the wall and I’m hovering so I can catch him if he falls but I’m not sure I could take another meltdown from him so I’m pretty much leaving him to it. 

Now would be a good time to point out that it’s only 9.50 in the morning. When I took my make up off him, he threw himself on the floor and beat the carpet with his fists. I haven’t eaten yet, I think taking him out would be a good idea but it’s a wet and miserable day, I’m not sure where we would go. He has absolutely no interest in his own toys today, finding amusement in anything/everything that is highly unsuitable/dangerous. 

I can’t decide if he’s tired (all hell broke loose when I put him into bed) if he’s teething or if he’s just decided to be monumental bum hole today. 

Either way, I shall continue my day, as public enemy number one. 

Please send ear plugs. 

In other news:

Yesterday, Wills thought it acceptable to smack Captain with that sodding loo brush!

Winter is here apparently, slightly peeved we didn’t have a summer in between…

My summer house has been erected (tee hee) I just need a couple of days sans rain so I can paint it (it’s never going to get painted).