I have a cold.

Nope, no wait, I have bird flu.

I'm allowed to exaggerate, we all know it's what I do best.


Noah had a cold from last week, and in his loving caring state, decided to share it. And I feel like shit, which is unfortunate, given that it's Jeph's wedding on Saturday and I'm playing in the quartet. Which, for half disclosed reasons, could be interesting.

I have a friend (yes I do!) who's having some trouble, and it's really sad. Yes, sad that she's having some trouble, but even more sad that I totally relate to what she's saying, but can't seem to convey it convincingly without the whole "Oh ya ya...me too, me too....my life...yack yackitty yack".

*cough cough*

My brain is slightly frazzled, it's 10:20 pm, and I wanted to write.


I'd like to utter the words "I'm tired of being fat", but fear I may be slated/yelled at/finger wagged at for saying it. But truth is, I feel fat. I feel freaking HYOWGE*. I'm tired of constantly not fitting in any of my clothes (my jeans....my beautiful jeans...) and yet still not having any motivation to really lose weight. B and T have lost a shit load of weight already, thanks to the likes of weight loss videos. I have no freaking motivation.

I confess, now that I'm not breastfeeding anymore (which, by the way, I obviously blame stopping the breastfeeding as the reason why Noah got a frigging cold), I have toyed with the idea of just, not eating. Like, no food. Not even calorie counting, just stopping food entirely and hoping the weight will somehow fall off.

Yeh yeh I know, that's just stupid. But when I walk past the mirror in the morning, suck in my stomach for the frillionth time, I wonder if that's just the easiest (and laziest?) way. I hate my figure, it sucks. And you know what? I don't think I want to hear "Oh but you look great, stop talking out yer arse woman", because I don't feel great, and much as they're meant to, comments like that don't make me feel great either. In fact they make me feel worse, because it's like I'm supposed to just suddenly feel better.

I never forget starting breastfeeding and weighing myself every motherbleeping day, just waiting to see when I'd suddenly wake up super skinny. Since giving birth, my total weight loss has been....weight for it (pun intended)...12lbs. No explain something to me. Noah weighed in at a ridiculous 10lbs15oz. Let's call it 11lbs. Placenta's gotta weigh, like, 3lbs. Maybe more. Let's say more. Then there's all the fluid and shit (literally), so by rights I should have lost maybe...17lbs. Give or take.

So, er, what the bleep?


It's not even like I lost a load then put it straight back on...I somehow only lost the weight of Noah.

Fer bleeps sake.

Wanna hear something really funny? (Cos you know this post is just a barrel of laughs) I officially go back to work in September. I have no idea how many days that is, a)because I don't even know the official date I start back and b)quite frankly I don't care to know. I'm erm, really excited.


*cough cough*

I am not entirely sure why I'm going back, apart from knowing that it's somehow related to finances. Like, maternity pay, and having no money of my own. My mother has officially retired (as of today!) so she's on hand to babysit, as are D's parents.

I can't complain about going back (too much), the hours are good, and everything appears to be covered.

And as an aside, I swear to motherbleeping god, I am going to bleeping murder the motherbleeping barking dogs next door, because the bleeping neighbours are too bleeping ignorant and a pair of dumb bleepers who are bleeping stupid beyond bleeping belief, as are their bleeping bleepery dogs.

They've been barking for an hour and a half. I am slightly irate.

Even more random, B came out with two brilliant quotes today; on arriving at L's house, she exclaimed:

"Oh my god Jay, I'm sweating like a rapist, I swear."

And later whilst feeding Miss P her spinach with salmon and parsnip, wasn't too keen on the smell, saying:

"Shit man, this smells fishy as fuck."

Awesome. Just freaking awesome.

*Where I live, this actually means huge. The accent gets a bit funny, ya know?
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D goes to Dubai soon, for a whole week. I think I may actually be feeling slightly terrified.
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This is why I have barely posted:

He sits. I have to make sure he doesn't smash his head on the floor.

He self feeds. I have to make sure he doesn't choke.

He rolls around in his cot. I have to make sure he doesn't get stuck.

He pulls himself to kneeling. I have to hide everything.

And there's more.

He eats anything he can lay his hands on.

He crawls at full steam, fully co-ordinated. Everywhere.

And he pulls himself up to standing.

With the help of anything he can get near to.

I am currently in touch with world leading scientists to see if I can get eyes implanted in the back of my head.

And as if that wasn't enough, I actually seem to have run out of milk, as of last week. He's on... The F Word, and still fighting the dairy intolerance battle. I think I'm ok with it all, the fact that my body finally gave up trying to feed a 22lbs baby (yes, 22lbs people. He's an adult.), I'm happy that I hit my final 6 months target. In fact I managed to get three weeks past 6 months which makes me even happier. I had set the next provisional goal at 7 months, but already knew it to be unlikely. In fact, I may have just realised how my poor body may have just crumpled to nothing if I had tried to continue feeding this large baby/small boy/medium sized adult...

As for his movements (and for once, not the bowel variety), I struggle to keep up now. There are baby gates in the house, cd's and DVD's have been moved out of the lounge, in his cot we often find him standing up casually holding onto the rail with one hand whilst swatting Tigger with the other. Downstairs, he's a fan of the game 'Lets Pull Up To The Table And Swish Everything Off It Or Smack It Real Hard To See If It Will Break'. It's a great game, I love it, makes me really happy, especially when it involves smashing a remote control onto my phone, or trying to push the laptop on the floor. Fun! Fun I say!!

He started coasting yesterday too, and today decided he would like to try and move from the sofa to the table. Yes there's a gap, and he hasn't quite worked out that he needs to remain standing in transition. Aren't they supposed to learn this stuff when they're like, 3 years? Or something? I could have sworn I still had several months to go before enduring this...

Still it's great fun. But not when you've put him down for a nap 10 minutes ago in his travel cot, and you can still see his head bobbing up over the side....
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