Night-time Terrors

I used to love co-sleeping with my son, we do it very safely and not often. 

As a result I barely EVER sleep when it happens. 

Why? 

  1. I’m scared I’ll suffocate him.
  2. My partner has a history of sleep elbowing me in the face – so I have to protect the child from the sleep elbow.
  3. The child is 7 months old now and he kicks like a fucking mule. I might have known; he was kicking very early in the womb. Hard. 
  4. My place in the bed is on the verge, the edge and I’m always scared I’ll fall off into the abyss i.e. the floor. 

These reasons alone ensure I more often than not, want some ‘me’ sleep time and push for the bear to be in his cot. 

When this feeling is strong, my partner seems to hone in on it and becomes the most neediest father that ever lived. 

I need to cuddle my son.”

“I barely spend time with him.”

And co-sleeping happens.

For an hour. And then the bear kicks like a mule/the partner wants to move/is too hot/is too cold/has baby sweat on him/I’m taking up too much room/wants to go to sleep, a deep sleep and then I’m left with the responsibility of the baby. 

Thank you. You fucker. 

I put him back in his cot, he cries blue murder as he’s already been disturbed three times, he loves sleeping with us or he takes after his dad and is just a douche. Not really he’s awesome. Fact. 

So my partner gets the lovely falling asleep, look at his face, oh he’s snoring moment and I get the rest. This is my life, well, my nightimes. 

I feel if you want to co-sleep then you have the responsibility ALL night long because I need my fucking sleep because I’m fucking knackered from all this co-sleeping, hacking cough and feeling ill shit while you’re also pestering me for a blowjob in the middle of the night! So let me sleep, goddamn it!!!

Sooooo… we had a chat. And last night I only had responsibility for the bear from about 5am. And that dear people is a win, in my life anyway. 

Big and Strong huh?! 

This post touches upon a previous post about back seat drivers, in particular my partner. 

Suprise suprise, we’re back on him. 

Sooooo… He’s finally had his ‘morally in the right’ crash… and the kicker: I and my 6 month old child were there to witness it. 

Oh and the 93 year old woman he hit. 

On a roundabout she pulled out, it happened very slowly, in the sense if it had been a younger driver they’d have nipped out and beat us, partner would have beeped, sworn and moaned about the incident but we would have been safe, home and NOT dealing with the ambulance, police and miles of traffic we created. 

Upon reflection he couldn’t have avioded it, if he’d broken sharply someone would have gone into the back of us, if he’d swerved he would have hit a car and then it would have definitely been our fault. He had to take the hit, he had to plow into the 93 year old’s driver’s seat door, also the side my son was in… he was asleep and stayed asleep and thankfully was none the wiser. 

This is ‘upon reflection’. In my head though straight after, all I could think, and bring to mind was his idea of a ‘moral accident.’ 

And my anger kicked in, but because of the situation I had to control it, had to, and I did. I swore once, very quietly to him… but as I said, very quietly, he may not have heard it. Then I removed myself from the situation and therefore the anger, I had to look after the little man and get picked up by my dad, away from my partner. 

And my anger subsided, my rationality was restored and I was able to accept he had to take the hit, even though his world was in the car because any other alternative would have been a lot worse…. he was shook up he said because of the little bear in the car and for him to even admit that is, for want of better words, fucking crazy.

So, what an I taking from this? 

Walk away. Think. Come back… 

Calm.

Brothers… who’d have them? 

Hooray!!! It is not my partner that has made me angry… well definitely not angry enough to have to write my anger out. Well done him!! 

Unfortunately it’s the other men in my life, my brothers… I have three, all younger, all God’s gift, all cocky, loud and lovely (sometimes.) And really it’s only one that’s made me angry. 

We have a family whatsapp group… which, to be quite frank, is the worst thing you can do as a family – it started off as my pregnancy group so we could get the message out quickly that I was in labour – it evolved. Evolved way beyond anyone’s control. People have left the group, come back to the group, started arguments, been rude, been mean… you get the picture. Generally though, we have gotten used to it and know how to use it sensibly without creating another family feud like the great one of ’99. 

Except Michelle, I’ll call him this to protect his identity… he is in no way called Michael and my chosen name for him is in no way an old pet name from childhood when he paraded around in a matching knicker set of our mother’s with socks instead of boobs. IN NO WAY. 

Today he shared an image that I’m not going to share, but it was clealry a jewish woman who was suffering in a concentration camp with a sash stating she was Miss Auschwitz 1943. Hilarious. Well my brothers’ seem to think so anyway. 

I do not. 

Therefore I am ‘overly sensitive’ and that is what is ‘wrong with the world’. I should see that a picture is just a picture, it’s not going to start World War 3. 

I begged to differ:

I’m sure this image started as a joke too… 

No one has responded to this yet but I have my response ready for whatever they throw at me. I’m tired of letting what my siblings say fly over my head, I’m tired of them thinking they dominate discussion because they are taller, louder and reduce themselves to name calling. I’m also tired of being to aggressive, too loud and babbling when I argue. That is what the blog is for, all of these symptons are a result of my ridiculous anger!

So I will say this… but probably not, it’s a bit too raw for my family, who, while are close in many ways, sharing feelings, thoughts and hardships is not one of those ways. 

Here it is:

Do you know what? I’m sick of this rubbish. Do you know why I’m ‘overly sensitive’ as you put it? Because unlike you, I didn’t grow up as a privileged white male with no issues in her life. I may be a white woman who hasn’t really suffered any sexism, excepted Mr Crocket, who wouldn’t let me play football but what I did grow up with was psoriasis and I’m constantly discriminated and persecuted by ignorant people, lacking in any sensitivity at all.

I grew up being called scabby every day by my own family, I grew up getting odd looks for wearing big black jumpers in the middle of summer, do you know how many friendships I didn’t make because of it, how many complaints I’ve had, how many jobs I’ve lost? Why I had no relationships until I was 28?

Because people treat me differently because of something I cannot control, and only truly good people, overly sensitive people see past it. So when I see people laughing at something a person is, looks like, believes in, then yes I get overly sensitive about it and I will make my opinions known about it because I know what it feels like and how absolutely devastaing it can be. 

So there it is, another reason I’m so angry. Probably. I was gifted with psorasis and I’ve never really recovered from it, especially being free of it for so many years, it going while I was pregnant and yet I see it creeping slowly and surely back to weigh me down yet again. 

FYI I really was called scabby my every single one of my family and it is only with meeting my partner that actually the aesthetics of psorasis doesn’t mean a flying fuck to him. It’s also cazy how someone’s aprroval can do wonders for your own self worth. God damn it… I wish I had my own inherent, string of steel self-worth!

Stupid brothers, making me think about stuff!

The Mandela Effect

This is an interesting idea, effect, theory… The Mandela Effect. In extreme layman terms, and I mean extreme – people remember things that never happened, never were, never have been. The name is coined after Nelson Mandela, as many people would swear on their lives’ he died in prison in the 80s and not in his home in 2013… I definitely remember when he died… the glorious ‘signlanguageinterpretergate will be forever locked in my memory… probably wrongly, I have a deep admiration for that ‘interpreter’. 
If you think it sounds remotely interesting this link takes you to a layman’s blog which will then jumpstart your indepth, detailed and interesting research into the human brain and more specifically memory.

http://www.strangerdimensions.com

It even talks of alternative dimensions and as a new, hardcore fan of The OA I am so there, so interested, so deeply fascinated that choice could possibly fracture time into different dimensions, alternative dimensions, astounds and amazes me… and that items, thoughts,  memories can leak into my reality… holy shit. (Holy should be clapped out with at least five syllables when reading.) 

I’m a geek/nerd/whatever… it’s cool now don’t ya know. 

And I do have a point. 

The Mandela Effect happens in our house almost daily… daily dude! We must be at an alternative dimension hotstop/tear, as shit keeps leaking in all the time!! Our fights, conversations are always totally and utterly remembered differently EVERY SINGLY FUCKING TIME. 

And this makes me angry. Obviously, as this is what my blog is about. My anger. I was viciously angry today, so much so that I lashed out at the poor defenceless glove box with my foot, feet… okay feet, I gave it extra welly, or Converse in my case. I couldn’t use my hand as that’s already pretty bruised from my hammering of the stairs. (Never going into that one I’m afraid.) Therefore showing some sort of restraint, self-preservation on my part. Evidence of rational thought? Perhaps. 
Well done me though, I left that situation immediately… I mean my partner was dropping me off to tutor a Yr11 pupil, so I kind of was forced out and forced to calm down. However it really helped, and when my partner picked me up we got on with our happy lives as I didn’t blow up over the stupidest thing:

A misremembered conversation. 

We are both strong personalities. This is a fact and I am pretty sure we will go to our graves never admitted either is wrong unless proven by google, a third party witness, or a recording – visual or audio… I’m not picky. 

I mean obviously I was right and you’ll have to believe me because I’m writing the blog and he’s not, so screw him. I was right. And that’s why I get so angry. 

The question I ask myself though is when did I lose the ability to argue my rightness with a quiet calmness, dignity or even articulate and present well-reasoned points!? 

Was I ever able to? Or am I remembering my childhood, my life before my partner (Mandela Effect – hello!!) all wrong!? 

A misremembered conversation. In the grand scheme of things, looking back it does seem pretty petty. So if my partner had decided sooner he was going to drop me off and go shopping, rather than deciding 5 minutes before I had to leave (yes we were arguing about the timing of his verbal, outloud decision to go shopping… Pause for my embarrassment.) 

Would I have made my little boy’s milk and actually brought it with us? Would he have been happier, more content? Fall asleep later than he actually did, having a knock on effect that he went to bed an hour later as he didn’t fall asleep exhausted at 7.30pm… well only the alternative timeline that we have created will know if he grows up to be a totally different adult as a result. 

There have been bigger arguments and I’m sure there will be more, my solution is to start taping everything then how can he argue against taped evidence. Suck it bitch!! 

Back seat drivers. 

I’ve been driving since I was 18, I passed first time and everything!! 

I’ve had quite a few speeding tickets, a car stolen and one or two slight accidents. Pretty good on average considering I’m 32. 

So why the fuck do people think they can sit in my car and offer unsolicited advice, critque my driving and act like I’m some sort of manic murderer intent on killing everyone and myself via ten tonnes of steel! 

Today I took my partner to work, with my little boy in the back and twice, twice idiot drivers drove… well… idiotically. 

MY first instinct is to avoid a crash. To swerve and miss the idiot drivers and quietly curse them out inside my own car. I feel this is a legitmate instinct and reaction that would be common amongst any normal human being. Please correct me if I’m wrong. 

Avoid the crash. Avoid it at all cost. Right. 

Wrong according to my partner. I’m not supposed to swerve, I’m not supposed to avoid the crash, I can stop dead or carry on but I CANNOT SWERVE!! I have the ‘moral’ high ground, therefore if we crash and die, at least we will have died ‘morally correct’. Well gee thanks. I feel much better. Oh wait I’m dead so who gives a fuck! I can’t feel. 

The second idiot cut up a junction when turning, I did have to move, but I’m okay with that, I don’t need my day filled with dealing with a crash… this is of course assuming I don’t die. My partner pulled on the handbrake, got out of the car and followed the driver down the cul-de-sac, all the while screaming at me for swerving! TO AVOID THE CRASH… I cannot keep specifying that enough. 

Getting back in the car, he smugly states how suddenly the idiotic driver was so excessively apologetic. What’s your fucking point?!?!? 

So you’re perfect scenario, if we don’t crash, is to stop dead, exit my car, which more often than not has my infant son in, and confront the person in the car… who is usually a older, taller male (sorry that I’m perpetrating sterotypes but this is just my experience). To what end?? 

You, my partner, muscular, tall and willinging to punch a man who threatens to harm his child while driving, you can confront him. I, who, can deadlift 60kg on a good day, but has never been in a fight, still carrys some persistent baby weight, 5,5 and hates confrontation, or any contact with strangers will not. And no amount of shaming, lose of temper or general annoyance will make me. 

I was texted later that day with an enquiry about my day and a kiss at the end of the text. Holy shit… that means, without a shadow of a doubt, my partner knows what an absolute douche he has been and this is the closest I will get to an apology, well that and some really good sex later (Check). 

I’ll chalk today up as a win – common sense prevails… when I’m driving. When he’s driving. I fully expect his last words to be: “morally in the right.” And mine will be: “oh shut the fuck up…”

Silver Linings. 

This is a love letter to my hound. Silver… get the title now. I am hilarious and so very clever. 

My anger is taken out on three ‘people’ in my life: my mother, my partner and my dog. And I’m going to take my time and just think of all the positives that my hound brings to my life and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll begin to love him more than my anger makes me hate him in those heat of the moment, angry pits of hell, fire and brimstone I fall into. 

Origins of Silver:

He was bought as we were burgarled, I was in the house and my partner was offshore and felt the distinct helplessness a man gets when something happens to someone he loves and he wasn’t there. Silver was bought for £50 from Gumtree in Yorkshire, we’re pretty sure he’s a staffy rotty cross. 

Playing with fire you might say… 

And I look back and cringe but god help me if it wasn’t the best £50 we’ve spent. He is the best dog. Like seriously. 

So let my positivity in the form of a list commence! 

  1. My dog is handsome, he’s 39kgs of pure muscle and leaness. He’s eyes truly are the windows to the soul. He has won awards. This is not just my opinion. He’s won Most Handsome Dog and Reserve Best in Show… in Telford… okay, in a small village off Telford…. in a very small local dog show… but still, it’s not just me. And to be fair that dog gets more compliments than my very cute (okay, that is all my opinion, and every chuffer on facebook, and my mum’s) 6 month old son, walking down the street. If he understood, he would have a big head. Fact. 
  2. He was bought for protection and he looks and sounds the part. Many a time I’ve opened the door to a delivery man who is now standing on the other side of the gate after hearing the dog bark and launch himself at the door, vibrating the whole house but serving his purpose and protecting his family. 
  3. He is so much more than protection, he is part of our family. He completes my partner’s perfect picture of family life, although that perfect picture surely cannot include the sea of hairs I sweep up every day, every day, every day, every day… no!! Positivity only! Hairs are hairs and once my boy is old enough that’ll be one of his special chores… 
  4. He has the most amazing temperament, he has the patience of a saint with my niece, who is eight, he performs all his ‘tricks’ for her, although I rue the day she taught him ‘paw’! He lies with her acting as a pillow while she watches TV, a true indication of the relationship my son and his best friend, Silver will have. 
  5. I can already see the boy and Silver’s relationship forming. Silver has finally begun to relax around the child and while he does spend a large part of his day trying to lick him to death, they make a really cute duo. The boy gets super duper excited whenever he sees Silver, he chases him in his walker, grabbing fur, ears and collar and Silver sits patiently, wanting nothing but to lick this little boy. Dinner time is The Best!!! I’m shouting at Silver for licking the boy’s hands and waiting for a morsel of food to drop and the boy, staring me straight in the eye, reaches out his hand, full of rusk, to feed the bloody dog! And Silver softly and gently with his mammoth jaws takes the food, not daring to look me in the eye! He knows better! But 6 months old and my son is challenging me and favouring the hound!!!! Oh how they shall be the best of friends. 
  6. Silver goes on runs with me, and sometimes when he thinks I’m in need of an extra effort (and this usually coincides with another dog going past) he stops dead and refuses to move!! Think of my extra work out!! Lifting and pulling a 39kg dog!! What a considerate pooch he is!! 
  7. In a time where life sucked for me, I’d been burgarled while I was in the house asleep, my partner was constantly away on rigs, I had Silver curled up beside me; my protector, my company, my dog. 

Silver, you are family and I’ll try really hard to remember, no matter what you do to fucking piss me off!!!