Another baby!!! (Really??)

What is wrong with people?

It is like a mental assault on a daily basis.

When did mugging someone’s privacy become conventional in idle chitchat?

It is happening at the moment, All. Of. The. Damn. Time!

Example.

Picture the scene.

I’m stood in the lift, it is 7am and I am busy minding my own business.

I am bleary eyed and trying to re-focus my mind before the day ahead.

I am barely awake myself but being a mother, even at this early hour, I feel like I have already lived a full day of emotions, having just abandoned a distraught baby at nursery, nearly ran over a woman at the bus stop while screaming at the baby in the back to stop hitting himself, spilling coffee all over my only work shirt because I’m now wobbly on sky scraper heels that seemed like a good idea pre child but now I am precariously tottering on, like a hippo on stilts, all the while clutching on to the remains of said coffee like a 2 year old to an Ice pop wrapper that used to be an airplane. (?!)

And in they come, one by one.

My tormentors.

Which one will it be today?

I try to avoid eye contact.

Stare at the floor. Stare at the floor.

Nope never works.

‘Morning Lexy! How are you?’

(Obligatory head cock of course if they know I went stark raving mental, and in a normal chirpy voice with no head tilt if they don’t.)

‘I haven’t seen you in ages!!! How old is your little one now? What is his name again?’

‘Oh, Hi person I have spoken to 3 times in my entire life and only in the lift’  I will respond politely  ‘Nice to see you too. Wow it is so early!’ (HINT – Stop talking to me!) ‘He is 2. Addison.’

The lift by now has began to fill up, the doors refusing to close as more people press the PING BUTTON (official name) just as we are about to depart upwards, thus ensuring we have now been joined by an uncomfortable audience of morning zombies trying to stifle yawns and checking their watches, and we are inadvertently shoved backward and pressed against the wall.

‘Wow 2!’ the person will expectedly gawp head bent at an awkward angle so they can continue the conversation over the top of another strangers head. ‘WOW! That has flown by!’

I of course, respond by sticking a slight smile on my face and widening my eyes obediently before nodding back as if I cant quite believe it myself.

Which FYI?

I totally fucking can. I haven’t slept in 728 nights.  (I just had to do 2 x 364 on my calculator to work that out! Before realising there are actually 365 days in a year and having to re-calculate!! That’s how tired I am!)

But of course, ever the people pleaser in case someone decides they don’t like me, or considers me rude (my worst nightmare), I will nod in agreement as I am supposed to, and maybe murmur a non committal ‘Mmmm’ or sometimes depending on which number coffee I am on, if I am buzzing my boobs off ‘Oh it really has! LIKE TOTALLY!! SO NICE TO SEE YOU!!!’

I do this in a usually failed attempt to avoid, escape or drown out the inevitable next question which always, always, feels like a massive intrusion of my privacy.

‘So, are you trying for anymore?’

‘So, do you think you will have another?’

‘OOOO shall we expect number 2 soon then?

And then the cheeky bastards ALWAYS glance down at my uterus, as if checking to make sure it is still there, and then I ALWAYS end up briefly sucking my stomach in and firing off a warning look, just in case they think I already am up the duff and have the audacity to ask when I am due.

At this point, after we have jumped the hurdle of my uterus never fully retracting (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it!) I usually sigh internally and wish I had the balls to be more like Roxy. My evil twin.

(I just TOTALLY decided I totally need an evil twin!!)

‘Yes actually,’ Roxy would respond for me ‘in fact the Irish one and I just had sex this morning but unfortunately the sperm splurted and glooped down my leg in the shower not long after. I’m devastated of course! But what is a girl to do? I said a little prayer.’

Ok, maybe an evil twin is a bad idea.

But come on!! Surely unless you are engaging in a full conversation with somebody you are relatively good friends with, then this question is a little personal, no?

What is the best policy for answering?

Honestly?

IS honesty always the best policy?

‘Look I just don’t fucking know ok? The thing is actually, my vagina is still pretty sore from the episiotomy I endured after a 68 hour labour, just over 2 years ago. I’m a little bit worried sex will always be painful now, and of course, what with all that nasty business of me being sectioned and almost going mad and killing  myself, I am just not sure if I am ready yet you know?’

Pause to get my breath.

‘The thing is, person in the lift, and 4 other strangers in the lift wishing they could shove their breakfast butty’s in their ears, the Thing is, we are only having sex at the moment on a Sunday, because the rest of the time I’m just too damn busy trying to sleep, and also really, cos I’m still trying to figure out how to work the pelvic floor muscles pregnancy left behind and to be honest, I only have sex at all on a Sunday cos I feel guilty that if I don’t, he will go mad over the credit card bill or start expecting blow jobs.. yeah, like that is ever gonna happen again! Haha!So another baby? Jaysus. I just don’t know.’

Pause for breath.

‘Also, Addison is a handful. He just started saying ‘For fucks sake!’ a lot, and very loud. I mean, I know it’s not funny but it’s hard not to laugh, could I put up with that in stereo and not lose my marbles again? What do you think I should do stranger in the lift? What are you going to do? Yes, what about you semi stranger? Have you abandoned condoms yet? How are your pelvic floor muscles? Husband’s swimmers ok? Does he like blow jobs? What is your sunday schedule?’

It’s just too long an answer for a lift ride. Isn’t it?

Yes, that’s whats wrong with that answer. Its too long.

But you know why I really really hate this question more than anything?

Because, I don’t actually have an answer to be honest.

(Ok. We do have sex more than on a Sunday…. Honest. (He told me to put that in here as a slight amenddendadum. Yeah I can’t spell it, but you know what I mean. Notice there is no amendadedendam on the blowys. Ahem.)

It is just all so complicated.

I just don’t know.

If I won the lottery, yeah I would be barefoot and pregnant constantly somewhere across the Atlantic taking my brood on fabulous holidays all the time, and I’d have all their names tattooed on my toes, but in reality? I’m not sure we could afford it.

I don’t mean that just from a money perspective either, although that obviously does massively come in to it , what I  also mean is, we can’t really afford it from an Irish perspective.

‘What if you go freaking mental again?’ He will balk when I bring the subject up. ‘Then I’d be responsible for a feet shuffling, god mumbling, suicidal pill popping wife, a ferocious 2 year old and a baby! Anyway why are we discussing this now?’

‘Some woman in the lift wants to know.’ I will respond munching on square crisps and swatting the child away ‘’Wait, hang on… Wife? I’ll be your wife? WHEN? You know I want a square diamond right?’

And that is usually as far as we get before he heaves himself off the sofa and wanders off muttering about priorities and medication.

What if the minute the sperm made contact with the egg I lost the plot again?

What if I wanted to die again?

What if I couldn’t afford square crisps?

What if my belly flopped back down to my ankles?

What if I can’t get pregnant?

What if I deserve to be punished because I tried to die when my baby was relying on me, and I die during labour and never get to see Addison grow up?

What if one day I want to die again and never get to cuddle Addison again or the new baby? What if the illness grabs me again and tears my soul out and I lose my little boy again, the baby, and myself, but forever?

What if I end up in hospital again and miss out on all the bits I yearned to feel the first time around?

What if my heart breaks open again?

Why am I even thinking of this?

I am happy at the moment!!

Oh yeah that’s right, it’s the seemingly dangerous after effects of idle chitchat with semi zombie stranger’s!!!!

I think on Monday I will respond;

‘Another one? No I couldn’t you see because, basically my vagina was so badly torn with Addison, right from chuff to anus..’

At which point I will bend over and show them a cutting hand movement from front to back, for effect.

‘So I had this gaping, flapping hole where my bits should have been, for ages!’

At which point I will pause again, and proceed to mime a gaping, wide flapping hole that lives between my legs.

I may even add in a ‘swoosh’ and an echo for affect.

‘So basically when the doctor eventually did get round to stitching it back up again, which took hours by the way, he ended up having to re route my birth canal out of my arse, so essentially if I do get pregnant again, i’d have to poo the baby out while squatting. That scares me a bit to be honest. Big poo’s hurt.’

At which point I may or may not imitate a giving birth squat, depending on my mood and the time of day.

Then, just as the lift doors open, I will stand up and grin before strutting out with a fabulous Timotei toss of my hair.

‘Have a great day!” I will shout.  ‘Enjoy your bagel!’

Bloody intrusive lift folk.

Another baby indeed.

Like it is that simple!

It is true though, my gaping hole is none of their business.

Fortune Teller. (Don’t grow up yet.)

Dear Teenage Me,

Please listen.

I may be able to help you…

Your stepmother isn’t evil so stop writing in your diary that you hate her and just wish she would die.

You don’t.

But you are right she has got crap hair, but bless her, it’s the 90’s and to be honest your hair could use some work too.

In about 20 years, something called GHD’s will be invented and you will be transformed, so until then, tie it up and find a better hiding place for your diary BECAUSE SHE IS READING IT!

(Which is why your dinner is always the burnt one and why she never sticks up for you!!! Can you blame her? You are wishing her dead for crap hair?? A little dramatic don’t you think?)

Actually, once you have hidden your diary, pull on your new and funky in line skates, go to the bookshop if you can make it that far without breaking an elbow, and look up how to make hand held iron’s for frizzy arse hair, then stop wasting your time playing on the Super Nintendo and spend your time inventing them.

Believe me when I say, you will make a fortune and be revered as the frizzy haired wonder who invented Good Hair Days.

Jennifer Anniston will love you.

She’s the one you fancy out of that new show ‘friends’.

While we are on the subject of your hair? Erm… purple? Really?

Also, pay more attention in school, it may be funny now to try and Bunsen burn your boobs but seriously in a few years you’ll wish you payed more attention to what you were actually being taught.

Specifically when you get a U in biology at IGCSE and get kicked out of school.

Also, when you use a pipette to squirt water at Laura’s head, remember to make sure it isn’t boiling water. Poor Laura. It really isn’t funny what you put that girl through.

Actually, while we are on the subject of school, in 1996 there will be a cheese and wine night to introduce you to your new six form college, do NOT go behind the bike sheds with Hubert. He isn’t cool and neither is his name, also Mrs. Almeida will catch him fingering you. This will not go down well with your dad and even when you are 30 you will cringe at the memory. Nobody likes to remember being caught, getting fingered. Seriously. Getting fingered is not cool. 

Do not let Laura drive your moped 2 days after you buy it, she will crash it and while you are weeping she will be trying to find what is left of her ankle. Neither of you will see the light of day for at least 2 years.

Being grounded is not fun, and yes her ankle is more important than your bike. GO HELP YOUR BEST FRIEND PUT HER ANKLE BACK TOGETHER!

Do not drive up a one way street by accident on the day you are finally let free and then in a panic at possibly being grounded again, try and win a high speed chase with the Guardia civil.

You are on a clapped out moped, they are in a 4 by 4. It is the most pathetic short lived high speed chase ever, even if you did feel like Penelope pitstop at the time, You will inevitably get grounded again.

Nobody likes to see their daughter in handcuffs.

Do not leave Spain, ever.

EVER.

You think you want to live in England but all that awaits you there, is misery and a life of falling in to drugs, and friends who manage to let you down at the very time you need them the most.

Call your brother and tell him you love him everyday.

Do not drunkenly stumble in to your mum’s bedroom at 2 in the morning after a night out with a ‘new lady friend’ and announce very loudly to her sleeping head, that you think you might be a ‘Lezzy Lesbian.’

There are ways to potentially come out of the closet, and this isn’t one of them.

Make your mind up about which way you swing by yourself, then do what most people do if they decide to be gay and send your parents a letter explaining things, before boarding a plane to Guatemala for a good while.

Then at least, if you decide you are straight, it will be because you chose to be, not because you weren’t allowed to be anything else but.

Also Lezzy Lesbian?…Really??

Forgive yourself everyday and eat more cheese while you can, you have an amazing body right now.

When you are 19 you will move to America.

STAY AWAY from Matt Marioux.

He will break your heart in to a hundred thousand pieces and it will take you years to recover, meanwhile, he will barely remember your name.

Also don’t get drunk and try and park Peter’s car.

Yes.

It was your fault that it ended up in the Lake.

AND NO.

It isn’t funny.

A car in a lake is no laughing matter Lexy Ellis!

You could have drowned.

Sigh.

When you go on the Disney cruise do not have a strop about how fat you are and refuse to leave the room the entire trip.

You are not fat, go and pick up a prescription for some anti-depressants and eat more cheese.

Never walk backwards on a raised train platform to get the attention of a hot boy. You will make a total cock of yourself and having pins in your arms?

Not fun.

Or attractive.

Just ask Laura, poor Laura, her ankle never recovered.

Call your brother. Chat to him and tell him you love him. Do it now. Tell him if he is sad and depressed he can get help. Tell him you understand. Tell him he is loved and you will always be there for him. Tell him he isn’t alone. Tell him you need him and not to die. Tell him never to die, because you need him. Tell him not to die. Tell him you are his little sister and you can’t live, you wont know how to live without a big brother. Remind him of all your memories. Remind him how you rode on his shoulders, remind him you can’t live without him. Beg him not to die. Never let him go. Tell him you need him.

Don’t stay in and cry because nobody loves you, go out and dance because there is nothing to be ashamed of in loving yourself.

Always wear knickers, especially when meeting the mother of your new boyfriend. Just take my word on that. Seriously.

Enjoy your life, young one, and I’ll see you when you are 32!

Oh and Lexy? One last thing…

What he is doing to you isn’t right.

You are still a child.

Tell somebody. Tell anybody.

Tell your brother. Tell your dad.

You may think you can make him stop, but you don’t have that power little one.

It isn’t your fault.

(Also he better god damn hope he never comes in to contact with the 32 year old you, because she will stamp on his face, hard, before ripping out his heart and squashing it up in to his face, while kicking his balls out of his back passage.)

Forgive yourself as you grow up.

But don’t be in a rush to grow up either, one day you will know that ‘Immature’ is just a word old people use to describe fun people. (Kind of…)

Much Love, Lexy.

Be yourself.

Me x

Ps- Accept an epidural earlier. Believe me, you’ll thank me the first time you sneeze.

I’m gonna run away for a bit now. (But i mean it.)

I still have a long way to go I know this.

I’m having a little trouble at the moment distinguishing dreams from real life – so I don’t for one-second feel ‘cured.’

(Mental note to self; Alanis Morissette isn’t your best friend who takes you abroad on a tour bus and you aren’t a robot either just FYI. Maybe discuss lowering the dosage of your meds at your next consult yeah?? )

But,

BUT,

A year ago yesterday, yesterday, my god it only feels like yesterday, I was being pushed against my will, sobbing, ruined, derelict and smashed in to a million pieces, through the big double doors of a facility for the mentally ill.

I was terrified.

I was alone and I was crushed.

I was trapped in my brain and I didn’t speak the language.

But,

Today?

A year on from trying to kill myself over a Mcflurry?

I giggled for no reason.

I just giggled.

And caught myself….

….Aaaaaaand was totally overwhelmed by it.

And then obviously, being a girly type girl, I cried cos I giggled for no reason, and then someone asked me why I was crying and I obviously tried to explain I was crying because I was giggling for no reason and so then, when I think about it, they just kind of walked away saying ‘oookkkkaaaaayyyyy.’

But that’s the point, i was okay! Know what I mean? Of course you do, cos you are all as mental as I am. (Right?)

I giggled for no reason.

I was thinking about my life.

And I giggled.

Like naturally.

Not forced.

So, it got me to thinking about what got me here, to the giggling for no reason part of my life. (That may not last but who cares, I enjoyed it!)

And I realised, and felt the need to… well…

I wanted to say thank you.

Thank you,

You are all as mad as a bag of frogs and I wanted to say thank you.

It’s a year ago yesterday so it felt appropriate and timely to genuinely express my honest to god most meant, most heartfelt appreciation and thanks,

For every hug,

For every text message,

For every single statistic, for each one made me smile,

For every comment you left on my blog,

And for every tweet,

For every re-tweet,

For every Dm,

For every person that has sent me hope, and shared with me, a bit of themselves.

You saved my life.

You brought me back from the brink.

You made me feel loved.

Some of you leave comments saying thank you to me, and that i’m an inspiration, but you are wrong - you all are.

I’m just telling my story, but you keep me going.

All of you. I mean that.

Some of you my best friends who i know, and some who i have never met.

Madness.

Thank you.

I mean it.

Today I fucking giggled for no reason!

(And I like to think it wasn’t med related!)

Is this cheesy? I don’t care.

I just wanted to tell you, so that you know, how much you all mean to me and ok, ill probably vanish now cos ill wake up in the morning with a ‘thank you hangover’ and curl in embarrassment about the fact that I showed how much you actually all mean to me, and so now  in my mind you’ll probably never ever come back but i mean it and im not drunk, so I’ve said it now and Im not taking it back.

I mean it.

And I don’t mean to be big headed or annoying I just wanted to say thanks.

PS – And just FYI, if she knew me she would totally want to be my friend, cos then if she was my friend she would have you as friends and although you are all certified as crazy, I am lucky to have you and she would be too.

PPS- I’m talking about Alanis (not the robot, who was also female. Obviously.)