I get up, the cat tries to kill me on the stairs by weaving in and out of my legs, I put the kettle on, feed the rabbit, make a brew and proceed to get myself ready for the day.
Now, I don’t know what arrangements some of you guys have, but for us, my children are with their dad on a weekend, which means the majority of the time, I wake up on a Saturday morning…. Alone. *weeps in to green tea*
I get up, the cat tries to kill me on the stairs by weaving in and out of my legs, I put the kettle on, feed the rabbit, make a brew and proceed to get myself ready for the day.
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Recently, I've moved bedtime forward a bit to make sure they're ready and refreshed for school the next day. They broke up from school seven days ago… and I’m already losing the will to live. I don’t understand where my darling children have gone, and why they’ve been replaced by havoc wreaking demons! I mentioned the bomb going off in the living room toy box the other day, well this morning, after waking up with a headache and a cold, I was faced with a train set tripping hazard on the hallway, which just happens to be in between my bedroom and the bathroom. After standing on two little trees, stubbing my toe on a train station and then tripping over the bridge, I knew I was all set up for a very bad day indeed.
Firstly I must apologize for seemingly disappearing off the face of the earth this week. I’ve been struggling to find time to write in between MMR boosters, bombing the house, pill checks (I’ve lost half a stone by the way! High five me!), bonfire night and a generally unwell little princess. Secondly, I’m going to touch on a subject which people seem to forget about. A subject which lies close to my heart. I can’t fault the media for raising awareness of this topic every now and again, but it seems to be that as soon as its coverage has finished, it’s forgotten. It’s that age old out of sight, out of mind scenario. The topic today is PND. Post Natal Depression. The half term break is finally upon us and I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. Part of me is thinking “yes the kids are ready for it” and “ooh I can stay in my PJs till 11am!” (Don’t judge me.) I mean this morning, I got to enjoy two cups of my new lemon and ginger green tea without even so much as thinking about rushing about or getting the kids dressed. As usually though, Will was already dressed as a pirate by 7am. On the other hand, not only do I now feel like I’m going to be spiralling out of control into a wallowing pit of laziness, but I’m also mourning the loss of my precious child free three hours a day. That’s fifteen hours! FIFTEEN!! (sobs quietly) Then I think, but now I can spend five full days with my wonderful, darling, not at all evil, children. (Sobs again, whilst remembering the fifteen hours!) I’ll be honest, this is not a subject I thought I would ever be writing about, but when something touches me, and I feel the need to write about it, then blog it I shall. Be aware, it’s a touchy topic and I’ll admit to crying part way through – It appears I am an emotional wreck at the moment! So I’m currently sobbing my way through My Sisters Keeper. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s about a couple whose daughter is diagnosed with leukaemia at a very young age, and as neither they nor their son are a match for her, they decide to ‘engineer’ another child through IVF, in order to save the elder ones life. Anna is conceived in order to be a genetic match for her older sister Kate. December 2012 saw me and my mother take on a massive challenge. It involved building up a pub that wasn't doing great, and at the same time, me and my partner split and I had to employ a nanny to take care of my children whilst I focused on surviving 70 hour working weeks. It was hard work but I loved it.
Sadly twelve months later, after the brewery had bled us dry and I had missed a twelve month of my children's younger years, we came out - Although I did meet some wonderful people and made some great friends. I'm a grafter (as my dad would say). I got my first job as a stable hand (in a full livery) at the age of 14. Taking care of, mucking out and feeding 15 horses every Sunday, come rain, snow or shine. I used to get paid £18 for the day and I could be there anywhere between 10-12 hours! It was practically slave labour, but I bloody loved it and I was earning my own money. From there I went to waitressing, working thirty hours a week whilst studying at college full time, and then I went from customer services to Insurance Underwriter and spent seven and half years working for Aviva. You get the picture! So when we came out, it hit me. Hard! This, my friends is a full on rant. So brace yourselves. |
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