I have questions.
1. What is the female equivalent of a misogynist? Why is it assumed that only men will hate the opposite sex. I would like someone to come up with a word that means man hater. I have racked my brain but nothing. I didn't spend a lot of time learning Latin which hasn't helped my plight. I did take an Old English module at University but I can only remember three words. And not how to spell them so you will never know what they are. I should imagine most 'hilarious' men would immediately say a Lesbian but quite obviously that is stupid. They don't, I have found, hate men, they'd just rather not deal with their bits, which is fair enough. (Or furry muff - sorry I can't help it).
2. Why do women perpetuate the myth that 'staying at home is the hardest job of all'. It is DEEPLY patronising to both parties and yet is pratted out by almost everyone. I am not cross, I just want it to stop now. So, let us cease pretending that all women have 'easy' jobs that require them to sit at a desk, chat to colleagues and drink coffee all day whilst joyfully tapping in to a computer in a care free manner in order to fulfil their job requirement and let us not pretend that all days at home are mind numbing, tantrum filled, shit wiping torture. I have a friend who teaches biology to teenagers. All day. Give me a day with Ted screaming at me for more spiderman when he is already bedecked head to toe in spiderman garb and the cartoon of the blessed man himself is playing on the television in no less than two rooms, any day of the week as opposed to a room full of stinky, horrid, hormone filled, rude, ugly, know it all modern teenagers (I don't like teenagers - can you tell? I didn't even like being one until the very end of my stint - it was a very tricky time for me 13-16, especially as I was over weight, badly dressed, socially inept and wearing the largest, ugliest glasses you could possibly imagine.) Let's be honest - some days are better than others on both sides. Take today, I am sitting on my arse being attacked by Ted in the warmth and relative comfort of my living room before we leave for a birthday lunch at a friend's house complete with fizz and good food. I can hardly compare that to an arduous day at work as a corporate lawyer, surgeon, nurse, teacher, midwife etc. Even when I had two small children at home all day, in the summer when the sun was out we would seek out a shady part in a park next to the sand and water play area and I would sit on my arse in the relative warmth and comfort of a patch of grass and watch them play. I do not have to rush off in the morning knowing that the house will remain untouched until gone 6pm that evening. I have the luxury of leaving the dishwasher to be stacked on my return from the school run - ditto for the breakfast stuff, washing machine, beds etc. If I worked, I would be up at 6am to try and get everything done before we left (I didn't get out of bed til 8 this morning - GET ME), I would have to be properly dressed, children of all ages would have to have bags packed and deposited at two different venues before I could even begin to fight my way on to the train in the cold. So. Whilst I may not have an opportunity to wear 'smart' clothing and spend a few hours away from a small person who wipes their nose on my top all day, my day is mine and I can spend it how I want. As long as I'm back in time for the afternoon school run and Ted is in agreement. Obviously if you have three children under three (madness but there are those that do) and you compare a day at home with them to an 'easy' day at work tapping unimportantly in to a computer whilst drinking tea and replying to emails, then yes, the work option does seem easier. But not many people have piss easy jobs and not many people have three children under three.
3. Why is January so long? Who the devil thought this whole thing out. It is ridiculous. Firstly, December finishes on the 25th. No one cares about the days after and they might as well be called January. It is a 'no man's land' week which basically belongs to January. Especially if you work out the months by when you are paid. K was paid before Christmas and yet we will not be paid again for another ten days which makes January nearly six weeks long. And yet December is not even four weeks by my scale and February is only just four. Why is this? Let us jiggle things around a bit and add some days to February and December (people are always moaning that there isn't enough time to see everyone and 'fit it all in' before Christmas, although as you know not in my case) so everyone would benefit from my genius plan. There is no need for February to be so short. NONE AT ALL. Plus it would make a whole new raft of new birthday dates which is exciting for everyone. If only I knew what 'lobbying' was. I would lobby someone about it.
4. Why does sick stay on the pavement for so long? Even the rain doesn't seem to have washed it away. I don't understand. Dog and fox poo is often scooped up by the guy who walks around picking up litter or some other poo fairy who works whilst I am indoors sitting on my arse, and the remaining skid left on the pavement is washed away over time. Not so for sick. For two weeks now I have had to tell the children to 'mind the sick' on the way to and from school. What magic chemical from the stomach makes it so resistant to water? We have had torrential rain in that time so really it should have broken up and washed away. I shall keep you posted on when it finally disappears.
5. Why would anyone choose to go to hospital to have their baby. I know, I know. I do know the answer I do, but seriously they are MUCHOS depressing places. The worst thing about hospitals is that apart from the Munchhausen sufferers, no one wants to be there. Everyone wants to get out. People in labour want it over, people with their babies want to 'get home', people who work there are waiting for their shifts to end and people waiting to see Doctors/test results/operations want to stop waiting and 'get home' and people who are ill want to get better and 'get home'. To me it is a massive building full of people desperate to leave. It is no different to a prison. Especially as once you are 'admitted' you are entirely dependent on someone 'discharging' you in order to leave. Even the exterior is depressing. There is little in every day life more likely to make you feel inexplicably sad than all the people hanging around outside the entrance to a hospital smoking. The pregnant ones are more depressing than most, but anyone with a drip, dressing gown or haunted 'ill' look, dragging deeply on a fag greeting you as you enter is like having a big sign that says 'welcome to hell'. Even inside I find it overwhelmingly sad - on Tuesday I saw a woman on her own waiting to get through security so she could enter the labour ward - she was clearly in labour and holding two big, heavy bags and a pillow. (At Kings you are advised to bring in your own water and pillow due to shortages of pillows and staff to bring you water). Keith had to hold me back from offering to take her bags for her. She would have been way happier at home. I don't eat my placenta or anything and I am not mad enough to think it is always a good idea, but seriously, being at home is less scary and more comforting than walking through the hell smokers and waiting for security to let you in before you get put 'in the system' and then aren't allowed to leave again until someone says so. Midwife led units and specific birthing centres are NOT the same. Kings is a particularly depressing place so I am biased against it. Plus Bea's birth in a hospital has scarred me for life and ended in an emergency c-section under General Anaesthetic so I had the next two at home out of fear of going back.
WHICH just about leads me on to the reason why we were sitting, waiting in Kings scanning unit watching the happy (for now) teenagers giggling and playing with their mobile phones and casting scorn and judgement on the teenager who filled her 3 year old's bottle up with vimto and laughing at the incredibly fat and pregnant woman who could barely walk. (I am not saying K and I are nice people - we are not, but you have to pass the time sometime and he was quite pissed off with me for saying he could not have bought a more stinky sandwich than a toasted tuna ciabatta so I had to turn the situation around). Yes friends and strangers, M&O is adding to the clan - I am three months pregnant. The new M&O offspring will be with us at the end of the summer term (all being well). According to the scan 'it' is a terribly obliging thing keen to show off the heart and brain on demand -I am determined to believe this means it will be like this in real life. Although it might also be easier to scan me these days as this will be the only pregnancy I have had when I am not technically obese. Excitemento! I am officially on the system as 'overweight'. Hoorah!! I did give them my lowest pre-pregnancy weight and they did weigh me at the scan so they know that I have already put on nearly a stone (don't judge, I have been very ill and fat and carb loading has been the only thing to help). So, hopefully this explains my erratic and infrequent posts, my mood swings and exhaustion. The last two months have not been easy but I am beginning to feel better and now that I can tell people why my stomach is so large, I feel less embarrassed (I don't know if it true for everyone but fourth time around it is as if my uterus and few stomach muscles have entirely given up the ghost). That is another thing - if you lose a lot of weight (one of the midwives who helped deliver Ted didn't recognise me - that made me VERY happy) and then start putting it on again, you can see people look at you in that 'she's putting it back on' way. When term started a few weeks ago I noticed people spoke to my face and then their eyes darted to my stomach and back. It happened on numerous occasions so I know it's not in my head. More so at Weight Watchers obviously. They must wonder how on earth I can stand there and talk to them about sticking to the plan when I am quite clearly going 'in reverse'.
Another child is not a particularly sensible idea, I can understand my mothers 'concern' (she is most definitely not thrilled and did question my current debt levels - but equally I chose to tell her via email with a photo of the scan whilst she was at work which might be seen as a less than brilliant way to find out) but as I said, I am not a fan of odd numbers and I had to round up the total number of offspring to an even number. Luckily it wasn't twins otherwise I'd have had to go through this again. With another husband actually as K has made it VERY clear that this is most definitely and categorically the last ever child he will EVER have. He is already researching 'the snip'. I think I will have to agree. The house is not going to accommodate too many more - although after watching the woman who had 15 on TV I did think that we overestimate how much space a child needs. Oddly enough she went to hospital to have her babies - but then I should imagine that's the closest she gets to a rest once a year so it is her equivalent to a spa day. I am too lazy to go higher than four. The washing and cooking alone made me feel ill. So, all being well this will be the final time.
Golly, I must go. I've got to strip the beds before I go to lunch. Plus I haven't yet bought the group gift. Luckily I can now blame everything stupid I do on being pregnant. Even consuming four thousand calories a day. No one buys it obviously but that's not the point. I shall continue to perpetuate my own myth that all the fat collecting around my stomach is 'baby' and not pasta, toast and cake.
MMMMmmmmm, Cake. I better have snack before lunch. Seeya later. xxxxxxxxxxxxxx