Moaning Bitch Club. Just get on with it!!
It’s me, I’m back, I moan a lot.
I am about to implode.
As it is The Irish One’ s birthday today I do feel a little guilty about posting this. (But we all know guilt doesn’t last forever and as long as you eat chocolate, you will feel better. Luckily for me, my cupboards are full of chocolate. So here goes..)
Moan bloody Nora 1.
I want to be happy. I have everything I have ever wanted. I have a lovely little flat, a nice man, a baby and a poodle. (I have to mention Doodle, or he gets jealous. He is a sensitive soul.)
So why, pray tell, am I acting like a total lunatic? At what point did throwing a full bottle of milk at the wall (ahem Irish One) in frustration and misery become normal? When will I feel better? When will this PND rollercoaster come to a halt? It’s been a year for god’s sake! I am sick of it.
Do not call me Lexy anymore! Just call me the raincloud of doom!
One day I am happy. Manically happy.
The next I am crying. I cannot stop crying. I feel dead inside.
Then I am angry!!! I want to knock someones (ahem, The Irish one’s) block off.
Then I am anxious and I cannot leave the house.
I am a total train wreck. (I love that saying. Do I sound american yet? )
People keep telling me there is a light at the end of the tunnel. But when???
Moan bloody Nora 2.
Why does the hair on my eye brows grow at different rates? No sooner have I plucked them both, I awake to find one side of my face looking like a wookie, and the other still as perfectly preened as a bowling ball. What the hell is going on? And seriously mother nature, a moustache? And toe hair?
Why was this never mentioned in any of the pregnancy books?
I’ll tell you why! SO the human race doesn’t die out, that’s why. No woman with half a brain cell wants to look like bloody big-foot!
Moan bloody Nora 3.
There is no such thing as the bottle fairy, Irish one.
No. Such. Thing.
I am not a bottle fairy. I plod too much to be a fairy. (Thought you were being funny didnt you?) The bottles get cleaned because I plod to the bloody sink and I bloody clean them.
Waiting until five minutes before he is due for a bottle, and then deciding to fill the sink is unacceptable!!! When I ask you if they are clean, and you say ‘in a sec’ or ‘just a minute’ do you realise I actually want to maim you?
I am currently mopping the floor with a broom hanging out of my arse!!! Get up off the sofa and wash the bloody bottles!!!
Because, my dear, otherwise this mild green, fairy liquid bottle will not be used in the manner for which it was intended!
It’s not like the advert.
Why does mummy have such soft hands baby? For wringing daddy’s neck with!
And I AM SURE Irish One, if you tried really hard, you could EVEN wash the knives and forks too!!
Anyway, I better get going, the changing bag isn’t going to pack itself is it?, and no one else would even dream of doing it would they? Grrrr…