It’s been a little quiet here on the blog.
Maybe not from your reader’s viewpoint, but definitely from my minds. I’ve been writing posts, yes, but nothing really real. Nothing from me; honest and true.
It’s because, if I’m honest, I don’t really want to. No one wants to read the depressed ramblings of a stay at home mum, (new blog title perhaps?), who literally has everything she could have ever wanted. I sure as hell, don’t want to write them.
But I fear as long as I ignore the elephant in my subconscious, we may never get past here; so here is where we are.
I feel like I’ve been under an attack.
A full blown assault that is getting me from all angles and exhausting every part of me.
And here are the Assaulting Agents. In dot point.
- My parenting: I feel like I’m not getting much right on the mummy front right now. Behaviours I thought I had dealt with are popping up left, right and centre, and bringing along new friends to boot.
Maybe they have been here for a while, but it’s only now that I have the clarity to see them?
This morning, I actually had this conversation again.
“Who left a poo in the toilet?”
Enter various chorus’ of ‘not me!’
Sighing because I just caught him in an outright lie, I summon Bailey to flush away the offending excrement. ‘How did you know it was me?’ he asks, genuinely curious.
‘Because I know what your poos look like,’ is my completely genuine response.
Being able to identify an owner by his poo, is just one of the many perks of my day.
And It’s exhausting.
The good thing is, this afternoon I get to go and instruct other people how to be wonderful parents like me!
- The housework: I can’t keep on top of it. I’m always behind. Even when it’s tidy for one minute, it doesn’t last that long.
I’m busting my gut trying to have this immaculate house and live up to some kind of ridiculous stereotype I’ve pulled from somewhere, and it’s just not happening.
At some point I need to accept that this is probably as good as its going to get. Plus there are holes in the floor. That should kind of make up for the clutter right?
- My ankle: remember that disastrous exercise session that left me nursing a sore bum, a sore foot, and a brand new pair of crutches? Well it turns out that I actually did significant tissue damage, and am now under the care of an enthusiastic Melbournian physiotherapist, who has informed me, in no uncertain terms, that I am to keep said ankle strapped at all times and stop exercising, or I risk months of wearing the most stylish of footwear.
The lack of running is not helping my underused endorphins, and the pain from the foot is not helping me sleep.
- My weight: I’ve been having more fat days than not.
I’ve actually become completely despondent, changing outfits multiple times before leaving the house, and trying to eat as little as possible.
Of course the lack of exercise is not helping with that either. But boatman, being the star he is, went our and bought me a cheap little exercise bike yesterday, as that is the only physio approved activity, and he knows I’m going mental without it.
- Sleep: I’m not getting much of it.
When I go to bed at night all I can think of is the blog posts I wish I could write, or the sewing activities left unfinished, or how on earth Shonda Rhimes is going to move forward in to next season of Grey’s Anatomy?
- Greys Anatomy: the season final.
Seriously? Who saw that coming? I was so shocked I couldn’t even cry, which is saying something!
Ok, well the last point may have been a little exaggerated, but it does really leave one with some serious questions determining next seasons direction and outcome, and in all truth, pondering possible story arcs, and how I would dictate the scripts is a welcome reprieve from feeling like a fat, failing mother with a dirty house and a sore ankle, which is basically where I’m at.
Exhausted, assaulted, and completely over pretty much everything.
Did I also mention I have cold?
How have things been with you?