Dull and delusional

Life has reached epically dull proportions. I forgot that when pregnant I get very dull. I forget a lot in between pregnancies. For some reason I delude myself that life will continue as it was - I shall have energy, I shall not get fat, my moods will remain equal and normal and I will be exactly the same pre-pregnancy, just with the added advantage of a bump housing a baby. In my head, I am skipping down the road smiling at my joyful children who are skipping along with me as the sun shines down on us. All will be blissful I think. I convince K of the same. And then the two lines appear on the stick and within weeks all hell has broken loose. I eat with gay abandon - leftovers from the children's meals,  K's food, child snacks and sweets, crisps, cake, whole tubs of houmous and half loaves of bread - nothing is sacred and I seemingly lose any control I may have had pre-pregnancy. (ALL pregnancies were preceded by a stint at Wibblies - they go hand in hand). So I naturally have a rapid weight gain to go along with it and the neat bump in my dreams never materialises. Instead I am left with an odd shaped, fat covered lumpy bump which never looks as perfectly round as everyone else's seems to and also means that all those clingy tops and dresses which all maternity clothes suppliers seem to favour, look terrible on me. I also become deathly dull. All I want to do is go to bed. I develop a mild form of M.E which means that any burst of energy is met with a burst of lethargy. Evenings out become endurance tests and hideous, torturous exercises in trying to find something to wear. Any activities that the children need to complete become things of dread (after school play dates, school discos etc). I am no fun at all. I find pleasure in nothing but sleep, sitting and eating. Anything that requires my effort is an irritant. Later on in the pregnancy I shall no doubt take to my bed at 7pm every night to knit and watch telly which is what I did with Ted. K hates that phase. Mainly because he is lonely downstairs and has to make me supper so I can eat it in bed.  With each pregnancy I remember that I do not 'do' pregnancy that well.  I fear I shall agree with K and make this the last ever one. I don't think my friends and family love me enough to go through this again.

Take Saturday night. I was ironing the sofa covers. That is dull in extremis. I can't stand the way they look if they are crumpled and as they are cream they needed washing so I bit the bullet and set up my ironing in front of Let's Dance for Sports Relief. Oh and I was wearing slippers.  The scene I have painted is a sure sign life is over. To make it even worse my efforts were made all the more meaningless as K had a major incident with red wine last night and I descended this morning to discover an empty bottle of carpet shampoo, a very oddly textured and stained carpet and a new mottled red pattern on my freshly cleaned and ironed sofa cover.  (In hindsight my 'genius' idea to get the cream covers because they were the cheapest covers Ikea produce, was a mistake. You live and learn.)

I am at the point of no return with the amount of scrubbing and cleaning that has been required of me recently. Ted's potty training is NOT going as well as expected. The last two children were potty training geniuses in comparison. They had the whole thing down in a few days - five days at most. And Bea wasn't even two. She was in knickers at her second birthday party - I have the pictures to prove it. I naturally assumed they were so quick because I am spectacularly gifted at potty training toddlers. Miserably I was delusional in that assumption too. The other two must just have been more advanced at understanding their bodily functions. If they ever soiled their pants which I don't really remember them doing, it was once at the most. Ted is achieving that on an almost daily basis. And making it to the potty for a wee is also very hit and miss. The carpet has suffered a lot. Regardless of another impending weeing toddler I am insisting upon a new living room carpet in the summer. What with Ted's lack of bladder control, K's red wine spillage and now a purple stain left from Ted dumping a whole pot of Scooby Doo Goo on it there really is no return for the poor thing and having it put down would be best for everyone. (I know what you are thinking - and floorboards are the most obvious solution but I hate the cold and having cold feet so I shall keep on keeping on with carpet).

So, to sum up. I am dull. I have told you about my sofa covers and scrubbing my carpet. It is a new low even for me. Which is such a shame as Thursday marks a momentous occasion. Yes people, it will be a year to the day that I started on this whole shebang and I launched MotherandOther. Obviously the whole world has changed since then - I am now a multi million pound best selling author and I live in Dulwich in my six bedroom house and my life is totally fabulous - so it was all a jolly good idea. Or I am still on the same sofa, in the same house, not recovering from pneumonia but being grumpy and tired from pregnancy. That is a step in the right direction though so I shall not moan about that.  The year has gone very quickly and even I was shocked to learn it had been 12 whole months since I started regaling you with all my thrilling antics. It doesn't seem possible.

So, in honour of my blogiversary I shall try and be more interesting and thrill you when we next meet. There is even a hen night on the horizon - my little sister is celebrating this weekend - so that should surely bring about some amusement. (Although I must make sure to name the hen update something that doesn't have the words naked or fetish in the title - unfortunately I can see a large number of amorous people have googled their various fetishes and accidentally ended up here - it must be the most amazing disappointment for them.) I am trying to get myself motivated for the hen  - I have nothing to wear which isn't helping. I would be more excited if I could drink but at least I can eat so all is not totally lost. And it is a fabulous way of getting out of doing bath and bed which is proving all too much for me at the moment. Even one night away from it is worth celebrating.

Until then mes amies.
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