I opened my sweet and simple, pink and bobbly valentines’ day card this year to find the message
‘I love you baby. You are definitely the one.’
Now don’t get me wrong,
- The fifteen year old inside me began to jump up and down and scream ‘he lovessss me, he really lovessss me! Before ringing every one of her friends and repeating the message down the phone in to the early hours, daydreaming about marriage and kids…
- The 20 year old inside me tilted her head to the side and muttered ‘That’s so sweet! Margarita? Acid tab? Come on, let’s dance!!’
- The 29 year old inside me read the message twice, looking for a hidden meaning ‘Has he typed the wrong name? Did he spell my name wrong? Does he really mean it? Is this card one of a pack? Just how many women does he have on the go?’
- The 30 year old pregnant woman inside me tutted and thought ‘I should hope so too.’
But in the present day and time, (31 years young! Or….. hold on?! Am I 32? Hang on, hang on….OH MY GOD!!…. no… no hang on, no I’m 31. Be still my pounding heart – it’s been a long year ok? And my brain doesn’t work as well as it used to! I just had to check with The Irish One. His response, in case you are wondering was ’31 dickhead’ which actually brings me nicely to my point.) Upon reading the handwritten note on the card, in the present day and time, my first thought was;
‘The one what? The one you want to maim with a blunt gardening tool? The one you want to bury under the patio? The one you want to attach a gag too? (To shut me up, because of my constant nagging – not because of any kinky sex game, (the 21 year old inside me just sighed in disappointment). ‘The one what? I am the one, what? I AM THE ONE WHAT IRISH ONE? THE ONE WHAT? I BLOODY HATE WHEN YOU DO THIS, JUST BLOODY TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE THINKING! YOU THINK I AM A BAD MOTHER DONT YOU ? NO? NO? YOU DON’T? WHAT EXACTLY IS THAT NO SUPPOSED TO MEAN? I’M NOT A BAD MOTHER BUT IM FAT? AM I? IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK? NO? NO? WELL WHY DID YOU RAISE YOUR EYEBROW? WHY THE HELL DID YOU …….’ (insert any mental meandering here.)
Because let us just be honest here.
This year has not been an easy one.
So hard, has this year been on the both of us, i did wonder at one point whether i would even receive a valentines card, and thought perhaps a death threat would be more fitting.
Don’t get me wrong (again) I love him to death, i really do. There have been times in the last year I have literally wanted to pummel him (with how much i love him) to death, but seriously?!?!
This first year of being parents, (Other than the obvious total joy of being parents and confirming our love yada yada yada) had been fucking tough!! (There is no polite way of putting that, i searched. There really isn’t. And ‘bloody tough’, makes me think of an old man in a cap with a sheep dog. I don’t know why. Maybe because of my Uncle David… he doesn’t have either. But he does say ‘bloody tough’ a lot. So i used fucking ok? It just has more emphasis. More boom. And the kids should be in bed by now, so i hope it’s ok. I hope its fucking ok, ok? I hope it is.)
When i was up the duffage (or when i had an excuse for being a lard arse – yes thanks dear) anyone who was anyone and every man and their dog would rush to my huffing puffing (and usually food –a-stuffing) form and with great glee, mirth and delight, gaily inform me of just how ‘hard’ having a new born baby is.
I would (continue to stuff my face while) whole heartedly agreeing with what each busy body all knowing patronising idiot, sorry, sorry, i mean, while whole heartedly agreeing with everything they said while ummming and ahhhhing and faux listening to all the cobblesworth (an Uncle David word) that every random stranger over enunciated in my direction.
‘Oh yes I know it will be hard,’ I’d say in between bites of lard ‘sleepless nights and all that. Yah yah!’ before slowly and precisely thudding my way back to the burger van.
Seriously? If a random stranger has the nerve to walk over to a ‘heavily’ pregnant woman (I was 6 months at the time – cheeky bitch) and inform her with a huge grin, i may add, of just how hard it is going to be, why couldn’t she just go the whole hog and be more PRECISE!
‘Not only is it hard but you will feel a surge of irritation for your other half, at times, that is unbridled in its devastation. You will speak all manner of ugliness to one another in the early hours of the morning. Sleep deprivation will ensure you forget your wifely duties with ease and when he does look amorously towards you, you will find yourself looking for something to hit him with.’
There I said it.
‘Oh and word of advice? Remove anything from the home pre birth, that is too light in consistency or too precious, to be thrown, as the likelihood is, it will be sailing through the air towards his Irish head before you know your hand has even moved.’
‘Yes that includes the dog.’
(I also wish i had been told that even when i lost weight, my body would never be the same. I am a TOTALLY DIFFERENT SHAPE!? I tried on a pre pregnancy pencil work skirt today (the time is creeping up on me, like the mould up my back wall…… And no i don’t mean i have a mouldy arse. I literally mean up my back wall. Next doors spout is dripping on it. And no i don’t mean… never mind.) and although i can zip it up (back to the skirt,) it is now baggy on my stomach and seam splittingly tight on my arse. So basically,
‘You will want to throttle the Irish one at times, this is normal’
‘During the aforementioned surge of irritation, you will attempt to throw a high chair and a poodle at him. This is normal’ (Nail that high chair down, seriously. I was shocked at how high I got it off the ground.) (Er, the baby wasn’t in it – don’t worry.) (Honest.)
‘You will lose weight from everywhere but your arse and upper back (I look like hulk Hogan from behind!) This is normal.’
Is that what you meant by hard little old woman? WELL IS IT?? USE YOUR WORDS!!!
Anyway, as it turns out, the card doesn’t mean he wishes I was THE ONE who was dead. (Over analyse? Me?) It means (and i quote) ‘One day i hope to marry you, i love you so much, i know this year has been taxing (PAH! Taxing?) on us, but i seriously love you for every day, for giving me a son and for being as sexy as the day i met you.’
Which was pretty lovely to hear. (Nice try with the sexy. It aint happening. I’ve been up since 5am and smell like a mixture of calgel, calpol and puke. Maybe next year babe. You know, if i am still the one, by then.)
It has been a hard year. (As well as wonderful and beautiful and we are still so in love yada yada yada) But the year is over on April 4th when Woo turns one.
Apparently that’s when it’ll get easier. Relationship wise.
You never know.
But in the meantime, I’m busy baby proofing the house. Covering plug sockets, moving all objects which aren’t nailed down and flushing all the bleach down the loo.
This has nothing to do with the fact Woo is about to walk.
Nothing at all.
This is normal. Apparently.
Oh my god?! It is normal isn’t it?
I know it may seem like i am trying to throttle him in this picture, but I honestly wasnt. Honestly! And, yes, it has been a hard year. But whoa, i love him. I am still IN LOVE with him, And oh my god, I couldnt have done it without him. We have had our moments, good and bad but we got through them together. He is definately my one. (you know, the one one. Not the one under the patio one..) And I do love him with all my heart. Its been easy really.. piece of piss.. (You know, in case its not normal…)