Don't Mess With Rule Number 1

Oh shiiiiiiit. I broke the bloody rules and now my son's started waking up at 5.30 again. SHIT. He'd been doing this since forever until about a month ago when one miraculous morning, my atheist screams of 'For God's sake' must have been mistaken for prayers by some invisible force and he began to sleep until 6.30. God (yes, I'm willing to sell my soul) it was amazing. I began to be an almost nice person again. I even sometimes smiled in the mornings and managed to talk using vocab other than swear words. I remembered people's birthdays. I stopped kicking small dogs and old ladies. I went back to work, started going out in the EVENINGS. Life seemed to expand beyond my house again. Oooo. Lovely.

But then I bloody jinxed it. I broke the cardinal rule of motherhood 'thou shalt not speaketh out loud of positive changes'. How stupid could I have been? Everyone bloody knows that as soon as you relax or mention a potential 'turning point', it spins around, kicks you in the arse, gives you the v's and turns to turd. Every child is programmed from birth to recognise a slightly jovial tone in your voice. It sets off a chemical alarm in their brains telling them to take one of 10 possible courses of action:

1. Refuse to eat.

2. Hit/bite or pull the hair of any child or parent within range for at least 2 weeks.

3. Scream 'no' in response to any question even if you actually want to say 'yes'.

4. Shit out the sides of your nappy and if you run out of shit, puke.

5. Grafitti any pristine surfaces in biro.

6. Chuck water and/or plant pot dirt on the floor whilst staring at a parent knowingly.

7. Contract an illness.

8. Learn how to say 'mummy hit me' to nursery staff/policemen/neighbours.

9. Never, ever get in your buggy without a fight.

10. Wake up very, very early.

So, I'm buggered. I'm going to have to retract again, cancel social arrangements with friends who might have mistakenly started thinking I'm back on the scene again, rethink wtf I'm going to do about working like a normal person again and turn all grumpy and nasty again. OR I could instead repeat the mantra 'it's just a fucking phase' until my son decides it is again. It's just a fucking phase. It's just a fucking phase..

A Poor Excuse For A Blog Posting

This is a total cop-out of a blog posting. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to balance blogging, mum-ing and money-working. I'm very sorry for my lack of posts since I started back at money-work, but my brain seems to be seeping out of my ears by the time I've tucked my little boy up in bed (aka backed away from his cot with my jaw set in a fixed grin and all of my sticky fingers crossed behind my back). Yes, I know lots of other people have a lot more to deal with than me and I shouldn't really complain...but, sod it, I'm going to...How the fuck do you people manage to have the energy to write a blog AND be a mum AND AND AND AND? How, how, how, howwwwww? I have so little time to do ANYTHING. 


Can I create MORE time? Today I found myself wondering whether it was financially feasible to simply throw our clothes in the bin (kitchen, not washing) when they were dirty, just like that bling-boy Gangsta-man does (NobFaceTooMuchCashnEgo or whatever his name is)...or whether it would be OK for my son to slurp down some mouldy, old milk so that I didn't have to run to the bloody shop AGAIN....or whether it'd be OK to just leave him to find his own way to bed...eventually, whilst I dribbled into a cushion on my sofa....or whether I could cover up my 4 day-old body odour with deodorant because I hadn't had time to shower (SCANKY MUCH? Yes. Did I do it? Yes again). And yes, I know, these are all tiny, silly, un-whinge-worthy tasks, but it's those tiny, silly, EVIL tasks which push you over the edge when you're so flipping knackered, isn't it. Bastards. 

And don't say that multi-tasking is the answer, or time bloody management (I know you won't, but that charming, shouty voice in my head will). The last time I decided to time-manage/multi-task and go to the loo upstairs whilst leaving my son downstairs to have breakfast, he ended up in hospital (he's fine - he cut a tiny bit off the top of his finger on a porcelain cup...and was definitely less freaked out than I was, plus he got to ride in a real neeee nahhhhh).  All I want to do is sleeeeeeeeep. I don't even have the energy to fini...............................