One thing, that used to wierdly upset me as a kid was watching other kids eat and cry at the same time. In the canteen at primary school there was always one kid who would cry so much she couldn't chew her packed lunch and her lemon curd sandwiches would fall out of her mouth and down her coat that she never took off. That kid was me. And I just spend all weekend doing it again.
I wonder what people must've thought seeing a grown woman, heavily pregnant, in floods of tears on the hottest day of the year in London Fields, and then again on Milfields Park, dribbling sausage roll onto her Barbour jacket (I no longer like lemon curd and C&A has since closed down).
I had heard that women in their third trimester get emotional, only the other day I sprayed my face with too much fake tan and burst into tears (looking back THAT, was funny) but no one warned me of the gut wrenching, heart smashing 'end of an era' come down that I spent the weekend with. And when you can't drink, smoke, or take the bipolar meds that have been propping you up for the last decade you HAVE to sit with it, and lie with it for hours often days on end because in the absence of those meds you can't sleep either. I live alone, and so there is no partner or housemate to come home to, just a couple of cats who sit on the bottom step by the front door, giving me that 'and where the f**k do you think you've been whilst we've been waiting to be fed and loved' look.
Maybe I'll try skipping?
Obviously I'm thinking thats it, game over, I'll never be happy again, whilst washing up piles up and so does my floordrobe, and that familiar 'you MUST call me/come over' next time gets shoved between a couple of records never to get found again. Today I'm supposed to be writing an upbeat and inspiring article on an ex-celeb I interviewed yesterday, and tomorrow I'm supposed to be filming with a TV company on a documentary portraying how women with bipolar can still make brilliant mothers but I'm feeling more like playing "Try not to guess what I'm thinking" with myself instead.
If anyone else says "Try yoga" I'll tape them up and play the Hokey Cokey at full volume on repeat.
I found out I'm having a baby boy! But who has unfortunately been given the working title 'Mr Sue' as I was convinced he was going to be a girl. He is currently going through a phase of solo disco dancing competitions in my womb, he doesn't stop kicking and spinning and that alone cracks a smile on my face that otherwise resembles Shirley Carter after a Walford Christmas special. Then again I am worried that even he will judge me when he is born because I can't find the perfect door pull handles to go with the nursery furniture I have made, which is probably crap too.
Onwards and upwards, I was told by gynaecologists in my twenties that I risked acute fertility problems and here I am six months up the duff, spring is also in the air, and, and probably lots of other exciting things are going on around the corner which I just don't know about.
Happy belated birthday to anyone who's birthday was this time last year.
Sunday, 19 January 2014
TV commercials where pregnant women stand on stepladders and perfectly paint walls are misleading! I've tried to conform to the idealistic media portrayal of the modern pregnant woman but it's not going to plan. Yes, I am decorating mother and baby to be's bedrooms with the help of my friend and painter, but I can't do more than ten minutes at a time without putting my back out - I crawled under a table to rescue some pins before my cats got to them, underestimated recent growth, got stuck - harassing friend/painter when the next lunch break is - contrary to builders' average twelve tea breaks a working day I'm on the the same amount of lunch breaks - and having to clean white paint off black cats.
To save money on shabby chic I've been making my own, painting everything in sight an 'antique white' then pasting embossed vintage printed paper onto it. But when you're happy with the results it's difficult to know when to stop and, being a bit over excited combined with mild OCD pretty much everything in my room has now been painted and papered, bedding included "What do you mean I have to strip the bed first?"
Although the radio has kept us entertained yet ten grand poorer a day - every time we can't be bothered to enter competitions we get them right - it's also driven us a bit mad. *****FM have been playing the same playlist all day, every day, and although I'm not one to complain, I did just that. In fact everything that winds me up about other people I seem to be doing a lot of lately. I can't bear it when all pregnant women bang on about is being pregnant and I am doing just that, to the point I've had to look for online 'bump' groups to give my poor friends a break. I also can't bear profile pics of newborns (because it's not you!), yet I'll probably do that too. Also in the profile pic firing line are when people have pictures of themselves with unplugged guitars or mics "Hey guess what? I play guitar or sing". Anyway.. I emailed said radio station, explaining that the two of us are working soley together for long days, that neither of us can sing anyway, that repeating the same track over and over is driving us a bit mad. I kept out the bit about having racing hormones, and about abstaining from my regular mood stabilisers, as I didn't want them to forward it to any mental health services or even worse 'Noels Christmas Presents' but politely asked if they could play something different.
But no reply, and no change. Next day.. nothing. By the end of the week.. nothing. So, when I switched on said radio station at the weekend to find the same tunes were still being played, I drafted a fake letter from my fake solicitor to shake them up a bit..
Dear ***** FM London - Scheduling team
I am writing to you on behalf of my clients Ms Hudson and Ms Blue following a complaint written you yourselves dates 14/01/14 RE: Repetition of playlist which you have chosen to ignore, so my clients have passed this unfortunate situation on to my company law firm for representation and we have agreed.
Failure to reply to such complaint puts you in breech of your listener satisfaction agreement, which I will need to obtain a recent copy of from your HR department within 14 days of receipt of this letter which has been signed and dated for our records.
My clients have since lost their decoration/restoration business as a result of your playlist continuation, due to psychological instability which it has caused. Ms Blue had to be rescued by a specialist recovery service because Ms Hudson who having heard Gary Barlow over and over to the point of despair - wallpaper pasted Ms Blue to the wall where she was left - to numerous accounts of Sam Baker - for three days and nights. Once rescued, Ms Blue painted Ms Hudson, restricting her breathing pores and now Ms Hudson is in a coma. She called me from her coma this morning with news that she may not recover.
I am therefor obligated to put in an application for costs such as follows..
- Loss of earnings amounting to £20,800 per year
- Ms Blue's rescue fees amounting to (and including trauma counselling costs to rescue team) £6,000
- Ms Hudson's medical fees (including medical staff Christmas Party) £16.050
So an initial payment of £42,850.00 plus annual costs of £20,800.00 until retirement age (tbc as I only have their 'DJ' ages on record).
Of course we could always tune into a different station but then I'd have nothing else to complain about and at this stage of pregnancy complaining is the only exercise I get..