Moaning Bitch Club. Just get on with it!!

Welcome to the fourth official… ok screw that. There is no time.

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???


Wouldnt it be my luck!

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!

 
(This is me, washing the bottles. Which brings me nicely on to my next point…)

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…

 
Look at me. I’m not happy.

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9 Comments on “Moaning Bitch Club. Just get on with it!!

  1. I would throw a bottle of milk at his head too, actually I have done that in sheer frustration. There is still a mark on the wall (i missed)

    Y would the Irish one clean the bottle or as in our house take any responsibilities, you are there. This comment from my OH caused a torrent of abuse on his head…but he had a point. So I stopped washing up and I stopped putting his clothes away….its killing me as house is a tip but eventually he does it.

    Men are crap don’t they understand that if they want a princess they need to help out the maid!

  2. Great again, I had something else in mind , other than throwing the bottle at his head, when you said the fairy liquid bottle would not be used in the manner for what is intended LOL x

  3. Hormones, hormones. I have 4 children and I was a bag of raging hormones during and after every single pregnancy.
    During the first pregnancy, I threw the bathroom scales at my husband and only missed his head because he ducked. Still, we had a ‘momento’ hole in the bedroom wall to laugh about afterwards.
    Not my proudest moment so we’ll move swiftly on.
    My youngest is now 4 and I’m still having panic attacks at times, but it has calmed down dramatically, and I have found some coping mechanisms.
    It will improve slowly, but surely, you won’t notice it at first, then one day you’ll just realise that X hasn’t happened in a while.
    Take care

  4. The bottles would drive me crazy. For months I would just clean them myself and then I went on a bottle strike. That didn’t help but I did buy a few extra bottles and used them. I just kept them in a secret place. 🙂

    Now I have to deal with my hubby never washing the damn sippy cups. During the weekend when my husband is home from work, there will be several sippy cups scattered throughout the house. Another thing that drives me completely insane is my hubby usually gives my daughter breakfast on the weekend (so I’ll give him credit for that) but then he’ll set aside her dirty highchair tray on the dining room table and will let if sit for hours. Grrrr.

    Just like the bottles, I would end up cleaning it myself but stopped after so long. He will also forget to pick up all the food that our little girl threw on the floor and in her seat. Then I’ll nag him to pick it up and he’ll get annoyed with me. Later on I’ll ask him if he picked it up and he’ll assure me that he picked up everything.

    There’s nothing like putting my daughter in her highchair and finding bits of rotting banana from the day before in her seat after he “cleaned” it. Ugh! Okay, I’ll stop now. Lol!

  5. There’s fairies in our house too apparently, although I have no bloody idea when they’re going to turn up and do their frikkin jobs!!! Saying that I nearly fainted the other night when I heard hubs washing up before bed……usually I get ‘oh, the pots will wait til the morning won’t they” or “we’ve got enough bottles for tonight haven’t we”, which is translated as “can I get away with going to bed and not doing the washing up?” Yes, I have figured it out Mr!!
    Fab post as always lovely Lexy, I’m off to stuff my face with chocolate, enjoy yours xx

  6. My helpful hubby will “soak” the bottle ie put water in and then leave them there. But will say that he has washed up. Not at all helpful when you then come to need a bottle and there they are, sat waiting with filthy cold milky water in them. Oh but theyve been “soaked”. Washing them should then be that bit easier for me. How thoughtful. You might think I’d learn, but you see sometimes, once in a blue moon, he WILL follow the whole washing process through to the end. It just depends on his mood. Just as wether or not her gets the dirty (but soaked) bottle lobbed at his head depends on mine.

    You know thats my first comment on your blog and I DO feel a bit better. Thanks Mammywoo! xx

  7. Thank you! You had me laughing out loud at your post this morning. Not because I like revelling in your misery but because I see so much of myself in your moans. Especially 1 and 3 – if one more person says their will be light at the end of the tunnel I might jump of the nearest bridge, literally. My hubby also thinks that their is a bottle fairy, hoover fairy and a ironing fairy. I think my house is overrun with fairies but they have terrible working conditions and the pay is crap! lol

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