I am SO sorry I haven’t blogged for so long.
It’s not that I haven’t had anything to blog about, really, it’s just that some of the things that have happened lately have knocked me a bit sideways and I’ve been on a bit of a miseryplop, and some of the things that have happened involve other people who probably read this blog, and mostly I haven’t really felt up to the challenge of writing. I’ve started and deleted this many many times because it’s just not flowing. I really don’t want to bore you with the tedium of my issues du jour, though.
So I’ll tell you some of the good stuff instead.
The Boy has turned ten. TEN. I am still reeling slightly, because I am far too young to have a ten year old child. He got absolutely everything he asked for for his birthday, so for once I was The Best Mum In The World™. That lasted about two days before I was firmly back in my role of FunRuiner, PartyPooper and UnfairMeister. <heavy sigh>
The Littlest Chum is about to be ONE. Which I think must be some mistake, because it’s only been a few weeks since I was waddling around, moaning about STILL being pregnant and generally being a pain. But no, a whole year has passed and my squidgy milky newborn is now a boisterous, noisy toddler. He’s adorable. He likes climbing, shouting, wet toothy kisses and eating EVERYTHING. He’s not so fond of sleeping. I wouldn’t have him any other way. But I would like a night of unbroken sleep at some point in the next few months. That would be nice.
We had an amazing holiday in Cornwall with almost all the family (not my baby sister who was sadly missed, she’s busy having her OWN baby, which I find hard to get my head around because last time I looked she was about twelve, not twenty-five and married and pregnant, tchuh, how old does that make ME?). It was lovely, we stayed in a gorgeous huge farmhouse in Bude, visited glorious beaches, explored towns that were both quaint and bustling, had some wonderful meals and generally had a fantastic old time of it. And to be honest, it was lovely, properly great, to get away from real life for a week.
Not because my real life is terrible and awful and a drudge, because it really isn’t. But I do seem to have had a tidal wave of shit land on my plate recently (mixing my metaphores there but you get the gist) and in trying to solve some problems I have ended up with bigger problems. Then there are the problems I’m just ignoring altogether because I really REALLY can’t be arsed with them.
You know me, I am an upbeat soul generally. I have a can-do, it’ll-all-be-fiiiine approach to most things and my default setting is stress-avoidance. But I have had days lately where I’ve just thought, ‘fuck this for a game of Charades, I’m going back to bed’. And that’s dangerous thinking. Counting my blessings usually works to snap me out of a downward spiral, and I have done lots of reflecting on how lucky I am, how wonderful my life is, my lovely husband, my amazing kids, doing the job I love, having properly wonderful friends.
But sometimes the shitty stuff bubbles to the surface and I can’t quell it. I’m not depressed, I’m just BLAH. There’s too much noise in my head and I just want to hide. I want all the fucknuggets to piss off and leave me alone and for life to be sunshine and lollipops again.
Is that too much to ask?