fightingathena

One of my outlaws accused me of having it easy today.

I happened to be working from home as I was too sick to get to work. Apparently not having my son home with my while I try to work and vomit is having it easy.
I guess working full time and seeing my son for 2 hours a day is having it easy.
I imagine struggling to keep two houses afloat throughout a recession because one won't sell is having it easy.
I suppose a job that puts you from Maidstone to Corby, to Carlisle, to Gretna Green, to Colchester, to Maidstone in a space of a week on your own mileage is damn easy.

I so wish I had the hard plight of other outlaws in my family of desperately working from home slamming a few bits of data entry into a computer for a few hours and having their child with them all day or just staying at home with my children and getting a maid to come and clean up the house regularly. Maybe then I'd know what "not having it easy is".

Said outlaw was stunningly surprised when I didn't offer him the above information and just offered to break his nose if he ever came out with that statement in my physical presence.

Strange.

Since having Evan, things like walking have been difficult. Most things hurt. Stupid, tiny little things hurt. Picking my son up: ow. Walking around: ow. Getting nudged by Dave while we're sleeping: ow, ow OW!

Its been hard getting my head around the notion. One week before we realised that we were having Evan, I was in the ring, kicking, punching, ducking and diving. I'd been training 6 days a week for a long, long time. Sport was pretty much my life. Adjusting to the reality that just walking around was going to be hard afterwards has been a lot to get my bloody minded mentality around. It took climbing off a treadmill and nearly collapsing in pain after a run quite a few times to make me realise my pelvis truly is unstable. Its not always made me the nicest person to be around.

I ended up developing a strange relationship with exercise. I love it and miss it. I think I genuinely used to have an endorphin addiction. I'm also scared of it. The pain hurts, not like getting smacked in the face (easy) but a long, lingering, grating pain that mocks in way that cuts. Watching women jogging past us on a day in the park makes me sad, angry and full of jealousy.

I have good days and bad days. My joints have been dodgy since I was 24. The radical amount of exercise used to help keep the joints supported and mobile. That's no longer the case. I get flare ups which can make things a lot worse. Walking on a stick for a few weeks this year was not fun.

This is a positive post though. I've seen a couple of physiotherapists and three osteopaths since having Evan. A couple of weeks ago, I switched osteopaths at the learning school which I have been using. I now have a very nice german lady called Monica. She came up with a blindingly simple suggestion: "You like sport, why not try it with a support belt". Completely logicial and simple. Yet something I'd never considered.

Today, I got off the treadmill after a short run in tears. It was the first one in nearly two years which didn't hurt. The disbeleif mounted and mounted as I waited for the thudding to start really hurting but the pain didn't come.

Monica is a genius and I'm looking forward to my first full mile.

Think I may be in an episode of Survivors. Possibly the one where everyone is dying.

Have flu. Fever has now broken after five f*$!@*! days. I just have a bit of a temperature now. I have a complimentary chest infection too. This involves panting a bit a coughing up blood. The cracks in the back of my throat appear to have healed up though. Yeay.

Tip to all: *IF* any of your colleagues struggle into work whilst ill with flu to be self important martyrs, SHOOT THEM. Burn the bodies afterwards. It's completely legal according to the Health Protection Agency's Emergency Arrangements for pandemics.......

My birthday was brilliant. It was just ace.

It started off a little wobbly after the day trip to Wakefield the day before. However, certain staff issues got agreed which should make my life a little easier, so happy birthday to me. We then hit a rather large cable which went "pop". Then we hit another one. Go us.

Eventually Dave extracated the mobile phone from my earhole and whisked me off to dinner. Lisa very, very, very kindly did baby sitting for Evan while we went.

There were oysters. There was marinated squid. There was coffee creme brulee. There was wine with every course, including dessert wine. There was jewellry that matches the wedding rings we've commissioned. There was much hapy talking.

I think it was officially the best birthday I've had. Ever.

Does what it says on the tin.

Never thought I'd geuninely see poo on someones head.

Apparently, it's possible.

You live and learn I guess...........

2 boys sat facing each other in the living room. One is 32, the other is 9months. The littlest one lets out a fart that Terrance and Phillip would be proud of.

"Did you just *fart*?" asks a very proud 32 year old.
"HeHEHHEHhe!" says the equally proud 9mth old.

So cute and boy-like that it needed to be preserved in the annals of LJ. :)

Unlike i_hate_monday, I'm not in pain.

This is pretty damn fine seeing as it was difficult walking a few weeks ago. So *yeay*.

I also went to the doctor today, who agreed to refer me to a rheumatologist on the basis that "if he'd been dealing with joint pain for eight years, he'd want to see a specialist". I like my doctor. He's from Cardiff and is called Geraint. These are good things.

So rheumatic flare up is over.

Being a miserable, grumpy cow due to being sore is also over.

*yeay*

Sucks.

12 hours a day plus working in the evening is pants.

I want to spend more time with my family.

/-emo

Hurrah! I'm an aunty (well I will be in March when we finally get our act together and have a big party and make grand overblown romantic gestures regarding love n marriage n all that jazz).

Aaaaaaaanyway. Dave's sister came all the way from Mexico this month to have her daughter in the UK. Leila Sophia decided to arrive last night. Which makes this weekend officially perfick.

This weekend consisted of mostly Sunday because I ate bad buffet on Friday. Ergo Saturday was a bit naff.

Sunday, however was *ace*. There was BBQ, baby, sweet little boys, paddling pools, sun, wine, fun and damn fine company.

I'm starting to really love living in Kent.

Can't sleep.

Think I may be a tiny bit stressed. I also think I'm quite good at understatement.

On the plus side. My son is still the cutest, sweetest thing I have ever known.

My cat has finally decided that inside is good.

I get to go home to Wales tomorrow. I may even get my teeth fixed.

I have a hair cut which looks nice. Must dye it tomorrow.

I bought two new dresses. They are pretty.

I also bought Evan some funky red pants to go swimming in. He has worn them already. On his head.

I joined a gyym and have gone several times this week. They do family swimming for free (see "Red Pants" above).

I have a day off work on Monday.

And my friend Carrie rocks. That may be why she's been my friend for 28 years now.

Phonecall from himself received this morning to announce he was dead. Very strange experience. :)

Housing market = slow.

Yeah, so I'm trying to sell a house and rent one at the same time.

Interest rates = up.

My savings are recovering. Life could be worse. :D

On a scale of one to stupid, I currently rank as "Almost Evolutionary Extinct" on darwinist principles.

I had a nice day set up. No major commute to Essex, London or Leeds. Just my normal office which is half hour away. Even better, I was starting my day at a meeting in a substation in Maidstone. So no rush to commute.

Everything was organised. I loaded my kit bag, my laptop, my bag of sarnies etc., Evan's buggy and bag into the boot of my nice, new, shiny company car. Then I shut the boot. *Then* I realised that the keys had fallen off the finger that I had slung them around and into the boot.

Apparently, if you just unlock the boot on a ford focus, when you shut it again, the entire car locks, regardless of whether the car keys have remained in said boot......

*taps fingers*

*Waits for transport to send someone to unlock the car........*

Stupid, dumb woman!

So, after a whole four months of maternity leave. I started my new job this week.

It's based in Sevenoaks, which is about 20 miles away, apparently. I've not actually made it there yet. I've made it to Colchester (about 75 miles away), twice, I've also been to Leeds (about 250 miles away). Luckily, I avoided having to go to Stowmarket. Tomorrow, I actually get to go Sevenoaks for the first time. It takes about 30 minutes without traffic according to multimap. I am really looking forward to the lie in. :D

I'd be uber fibbing if I said the 5:30 and 6:00am starts weren't a little bit of a shock to the system. Or if I said I wasn't seriously worried about loosing the bond with Evan due to him spending time at nursery school. On the plus side, Dave seems to be really enjoying th opportunity to be closer to Evan by being The Daddy (tm) that drops him at nursery, picks him up and plays with him till I get home. Also, strangely, weirdly, unfathomably, I've seen a lot less traffic on the commute to Colchester, which encompasses the M25, including the Dartford Tunnel and QE2 Bridge (and oh god, do I still hate heights) than I encountered on an average commute in Wales on the M4.

I think I miss being a housewife.

I always thought that the point of lino was the nice, easy care, wipe clean surface that it provides.

So, why, why, why did some FOOL decide to produce imitation wood grain lino? It doesn't look like wood, so that can't be the reason!! It just has irritating dips in the grain which collect dirt. Then someone else (i.e. us) moves in and has to clean your dirt out of the said lino.

Ok, at first, the lino looks like it has authentic grain because of the dirt in it. Then, as it gets cleaned, it actually starts looking dirtier as the the smooth bits between the grain show the dirt up even more.

*Sigh* Just lost another hour of my life scrubbing the kitchen floor. I think another four cleans will get the grub out of the grain.......

Also my feet are now wet.

And I have a cold. :)

So, as I checked my email over breakfast, I found a message from a very nice gentleman that I have never met but posts on some of the forums that I use. he's from the Kent/London area and has already given me loads of information on clubs to train with in the area.

Now he's only gone and found me a thai boxing club. In Maidstone. Even better, the coach is female. Even better, it's Nicky Carter who's ranked as no. 1 lightweight in the UK.

And there I was getting all depressed because I didn't like the local kickboxing gym I tried last week.

Classes are on Wednesday and Monday evenings in Maidstone. If there are any ladies who fancy it in the area. Especially on a Wednesday so it doesn't clash with their Monday night roleplay sessions..... :D

Spent most of yesterday at chez magicbucket and calpoll. Excellent dinner was cooked and much time was spent on cutting out the fabric for a new frock for magicbicket.

I got slightly overexcited in the the warehouse fabric shop in Wales as they had costume patterns on offer for £3.95 a pop. I therefore bought an incredibly cool looking pattern. It looks like it's going to be ace when it is finished. The dress will have the added advantage of being able to hide every single faction member under 5' and probably me and very_far_away69 under the skirt. It is a very, very big skirt.

Plus we get to make a bum roll!!!!! Woot!!!!

Insomnia is back. It went away for a long time due to being pregnant and having Evan to look after in the nights.

I seem to have adjusted and Evan is starting to sleep for longer at night. Now I don't sleep so well. The sleep that I am getting is littered with dreams again. Luckily they've not turned to nightmares quite yet.

The lack of sleep is coupled with an excess of pent up energy that isn't getting spent very well. I used to be able to work through it by training excessively. I feel its far too unfair on Evan to train for more than once or twice a week at the moment though. It was good when I could go and hit a few bags at Mike's gym with Evan to keep me company but that's not an option around here.

Hrmm. I think I need to get my arse out running with the pram. That would possibly do it.... :)

I'm also incredibly wound up at the moment.

Evan is 12 weeks old this week.

Babies are supposed to be inoculated at 8 weeks.

Evan hasn't had a single inoculation yet.

We moved when Evan was nearly 9 weeks old. We had received an appointment for his jabs with out welsh doctor during the week that we moved. We moved on the Sunday and his appointment was on the Wednesday. As a result we phoned and cancelled. It seemed to be a wise idea to arrange the inoculations in Maidstone so Evan wouldn't be suffering post the inoculations whilst we tried to move him and us four hours away. Our welsh clinic seemed to agree that this was a good idea.

I had organised a doctor by the Tuesday after we moved. However, I was told that we couldn't actually *see* a doctor for at least two weeks. I explained the situation as I was a little concerned at how long Evan would need to wait for his inoculations. So after a bit of persuasion, the receptionist said "Call back at the end of the week and we'll try to get you in". I thought this was very nice of her.

When I called back I was given an appointment for today. I duly turned up to be told there was no nurse available, I'd need to see a doctor and that they hadn't bothered registering Evan yet. Oh and that it was my fault as I should have had him inoculated before the NHS sent me the appointment for his inoculations in Wales.

I explained that I wasn't happy as Evan had been waiting too long for his jabs. They then got tried to make me have a post natal check up, which at 12 week is completely unnecessary. I explained I wasn't interested in that at this point and I just wanted to sort out my son's care. They tired to get shirt about making me have a check so I pointed out that it was my choice to accept any care that I was offered. They then decided that blackmail would be a good idea and said that if I didn't consent to a check up them wouldn't treat my son.

I managed to courteously leave the surgery stating I'd lodge a complaint with the NHS. I got through the door. I slammed the door. Then I realised how angry I was and proceeded to boot the living fuck out of the door. It may have been a better to have done this in something other than the very soft, thin suede boots I was wearing at the time.

My foot hurts now. :@(