Just a small town girl, living in a different world….
I have a broken nail. The most important typing nail. Which is why I haven’t been around lately. Typing is a nightmare with only nine acrylic nails. It has taken me an hour to type this one sentence. My hand doesn’t know whether it is coming or going. My fore finger is in a mood as it feels chubby and unattractive next to its elongated glittery compadres and the space bar on my laptop is sticky. I am telling you this, so that you understand why, this post is important. I am typing against the odds. I am a warrior. A blogging Warrior.
In the past, pre– anal stitching, I would have had this malfunctioning nail fixed immediately. I would have dialed nail disaster 999 and it would have been sorted quicker than you could say ‘buy some leggings that fit, you chubby moose, then you won’t break a nail trying to heave them over your enormous gut.’
I would have jumped in my foxy little 2 seater and raced down to Bolton town center, hell for leather, music blaring, and been back on the sofa preparing my night out quicker than you could say ‘I love the smell of fake tan, but what’s a night out?’ I was a woman, whose only mission, was career, drink and frivolous fun.
But in the present, (alas), I am now a woman who piddles when she sneezes. (Does this ever stop?… And please don’t suggest I do some pelvic floor. I have enough to do as it is. I can multi-task like a mother fecker but I refuse to add clenching my lady muscles to the never ending list of daily tasks. Clench while washing up, talking baby talk, feeding the dog, loading the washer and doing my eyeliner? No thanks weirdo. But you go right ahead… I hate them. They make me feel sick. I just did one. They are just weird…and horrible. *Shudder.*)
I used to be cool. I was cool. Honest! I liked Journey before Glee made it cool! Which means I was super cool! (JUUUUUUUSSSSSSTTTT A SMMAAAALLLTOOOWN GIIIIRLLLLLL…. Sorry. Love that song.)
However, over the last few days, its has become screamingly obvious, especially seen as I am more inclined to reach for the Tena Lady before a pack of tissues, just how much my life has changed since giving birth to Woo. And not just because of my wobbly gut, stretch marks and inability to walk up a flight of stairs. (…..or sneeze without wetting myself…. )
In February I am going back to work.
Hang on, let me just pick my heart up off the floor before the dog starts humping it. (If it moves he will hump it.)
I am going back to work full time.
Slippery little bugger.
A year ago today my priorities were very different. I was very different. (My lady muscles were second to none and my knees were quite cute, as oppose to creaky and knackered. A year ago today my main focus was my career and being thin. (shallow bitch. Yes I know.) A year ago today I was worried about missing a year off work. A year ago today I was promising to only take four months. A year ago today I was worried about my portfolio and whether I could afford two pairs of winter boots with a baby on the way. A year ago today my job and having a laugh with a bottle of vodka was my world. A year ago today I thought I was cool.
Today I don’t care about cool. Today I am not even remotely arsed about being sophisticated (cough cough chav cough cough) with super skinny jeans and a pendant for skipping meals. Today I am a broken nailed chubby mummy (and blogging warrior!) who can be seen shoving a full fat muffin down her throat while wiping up puke (and not doing pelvic floor excersizes!! Let it go!!!) while singing ‘the grand old duke of York’ at top decibels to win an elusive smile.
Today I am starting to realise February is growing close. Today I am worried my heart will break in to a thousand pieces when I hand my heart and soul, my blood, my best friend, the love of my life, my baby over to a stranger, while I go back to my portfolio. (Spit that word out.)
I am one of those women I used to hate. And I couldn’t give a flying duck. I wanted a career. My priorities have changed. And yes some women have both. But today. I just want Addison.
Thud! Splat! Pacha!
(Nanananananananana BATMAAAAN!!! Just kidding. That’s my heart again. With a dagger in it.)
I am not dreading going back to work because I am lazy. I am not dreading going back to work because I am nervous. I am dreading going back to work because I will miss my son. I will miss my son. I will miss being a full time mum. (I will miss the puke in the bath, the poo in the bath, story time, wiping puke off the book, wiping puke of my jeans, wiping puke off the dog and mostly? I will miss the pukey impromptu cuddles.)
A year ago today I could throw major strops and blame them on stress.
Today I am about to throw a major strop and blame it on my horny dog. LEAVE THAT BLOODY VIBRATING MICKEY MOUSE ALONE DOODLE!!!
A year ago today I was a stroppy cow when I didn’t get my own way.
Some things never change.
Going back to work will not ‘sort my head out’ like countless people keep promising. Going back to work will break my heart.
Smell of wine and cheeeeeappp perfummmmeeee *sob sob*, She took the midnight train going anywheeeeerrrreeeeeee…*sob sob*, Just a small town girl… gonna be living in a lonnneeeelllllyyyy worlllllddddd *sob sob*
Still got the drama though. You godda love the drama.