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. 

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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.

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!! 

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!!