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. 


  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… 


Dogs, Dirt and Partners

I’m here to moan, to vent, to be so fucking angry the words will burn holes into the computer/mobile screen. 

So I will sound whiney, bitchy and negative and my partner will be recreated here as a villain, a tool, a jerk, a douche, a moron, a sociopath… all the things I see him as when I lose my shit… when the veil of angry denies me any rational behaviour, any space to step away and see sense. 

This is what my writing, my entries, will be, because if they’re not then my anger is not controlled, it seeps into my real life, my real relationship and it will fester deep within our relationship and it will spoil our relationship. So better off being a whiney bitch here than elsewhere. 

Men are stupid… okay massive generalisation but it seems less hurtful than say my partner is fucking stupid. So I’ll be using the pronoun ‘they’ but really it’s just ‘he’. Sorry men. 

They operate on a totally different level, it’s pouring with rain, our garden is basically a mud bath. Let the dog out… let him in. They see this as their good deed for the day, ‘usually she does it but I’m saving her a job’, glowing sense of achievement, warm feeling of helping. Check. 

Fuck you. I see it as Let the dog out, dog runs around madly, playing in the mud, digging his favourite hole… let him in, let him run through the kitchen, into the hallway and to his food bowl… leaving a clear trail of mud on the floor and carpet that even the most inept dective could follow! I then have to clean said mess as they eat their breakfast, staring at their phone… oblivious to my quiet rage and hints in the form of my polite request that they never ever ever ever ever let the dog out again. That’s my job, not theirs… as so many things are in our house. 

I know deep down in my soul he does things like this, not on purpose, but because he is a lesser person than me, he needs me to survive basically… which is a lie as he survived 28yrs without me… so he did do it on purpose!! I FUCKING KNEW IT!! 

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!!! 

Why so Angry?

I’ve always been an angry person, deep deep down in my soul. Everything winds me up; people eating too loudly, people breathing too loudly… damn it, just ‘people.’ However, I have been able to hide this anger, this monstrousity of a character flaw under sarcasm, being an introvert and very luckily being overweight for a large part of my life AND have psoriasis over 75% of my body! Winner, winner!! Who wants to get close enough to that to get to know the ‘real’ me… that angry, angry angry angry ball of something. 

Then at 28 years of age, I lost loads of weight and found a miracle pill that seemed to spare me the horror of psoriasis. I gained a desire to want new people in my life, romantically, and after a few hits and misses, ups and downs, I met a nice man, moved in, got engaged, had a little boy, who is 6 months tomorrow, and are coming up to five years together… thank you very much. 

So, pretty good. But remember I’m deep deep deep down angry and there’s only so long I can supress that living in close quarters with another human being and being pregnant seemed to amplify every angry thought, feeling, reaction I had. 

My mother gets to be on a lot of the receiving end of my anger, my aggression, my sarcasm, my snideness but she’s never seen the balls to the ball wall anger my partner has seen… my hot, wet, horrible angry tears, my screaming, my phsyical manifestations of anger; at walls, my phone, the glove box, the car seat headrest, my complete lack of ability to communicate properly in any situation where I feel hard done by, under appreciated, treated unfairly or just in a shitty mood. ALL of this is in my own home at worst in the car. My partner is the only person who has seen the truth of me and I suck… hard. 

At work – consummate professional, comments on how calm I am, I’m a teacher so totally loads of opportunities to lose your actual shit. As a mother, love it, all the patience in the world, never could be angry at that little boy. As a partner… I suck. Hard. And last week it reached it’s climax and my partner was done and I don’t blame him, did I mention how much I sucked? I begged and begged and miracles of mircales we’re trying to work it out and we’re on a three month trail basis. We both have shit to change but my biggest thing is my seething, uncontrolled anger at him for nothing more than he didn’t put his dish in the dishwasher. 

So one thing I have to do is write about it, he really likes that idea and so do I! I love writing, have done since I was wee and even did my many brothers’ English creatve writing homework; getting them As and a call back from their teacher asking ‘did you really write this? I teach your sister, you know… and you’ve never put pen to paper before in my class…’ ‘yes sir, my heart and soul went into that story about… ummm…’ So I’m going to vent here and it’ll be whiney and mundane and so the fuck what, I’m channeling my anger so I can have my family, I’m not going to suck as a person, because while I love my little boy, that’s not enough, I want him to grow up in a fun and loving enviroment, not an enviroment where ‘mummy could explode, metaphorically, if I forget to put my dish away.’ 

Disclaimer – my partner is NOT perfect and my anger is amplified with him as he is my best friend who has done some douchey things to me, which have taken root in my soul because I let them and I let those things fuel my ball of anger, even when those chapters have closed, allowing me to justify my angry outbursts. The kicker is, this fuel is no longer viable, I have forgiven (supposedly), I have accepted (supposedly) and I have carried on my relationship with him…. so I need to let these things go… they can no longer be deemed justifiable by me to use as fuel to my fire, because let’s be honest those things in the past have nothing to do with him leaving a fucking dish on the side, it’s a dish, it’s not symbolic of his infidelity that one time or his inability to give a compliment or his douchey ways when he gets drunk. It’s a fucking dish that he forgot to put away. He’s not doing these things to me, he’s untidy and lazy sometimes but he’s also wonderful, kind and generous sometimes too, so let’s remember that for fuck’s sake. 

And yes I am no longer picking up his dishes, he can do it himself and while looking at those dirty dishes erks me, picking up after him like some sort of maid (which I put on my self, as he has never asked or expected me to clean up after him – and holy shit, was coming to that revelation hard enough) made me a lot fucking angrier and we don’t want that. 

Angry, welcome to your new home, I have a life to enjoy.