Monday Blues In The Land Of Eternal Winter

by Cookie

I don’t have anything inspiring, or newsworthy or really all that interesting for you this Monday.  I’ve been up since the crack of way-too-fucking-early, and have some work stuff on my mind that feels overwhelming.

I feel a little bitchy.  I feel a little panicked.  Because helloooo third trimester.  There is nothing prepped for Little Buddy.  The Destroyer is not in her big girl bed.  The walls are dirty.  And I just sneezed three times.  And all you pregnant or have-been pregnant girls out there know what that means.

So this is going to be a therapeutic, mind clearing whine session.  It has no direction, and is nothing but a complete waste of your time.  Maybe I’ll get a few “hell yeahs” or something, but really, I don’t expect my readership to rise today or anything.

I fucking hate lazy people and stupid people.  And to be honest, I am so tired lately that I feel like I am becoming both of those things.  And then I start to feel like I have a million things to get done, but don’t have the energy to get them done.  Then I don’t sleep well, and the cycle continues.  Anyone up for a bottle of tequila yet?

It is April the fucking 8th today.  It snowed here last night, and there is snow forecast again over the next few days.  And it is seriously pissing me off.  Can’t it just be over yet?  Can’t I just let my kid go outside without dressing her for eternal winter?  We had dinner reservations last night and I could not find a pair of leotards that fit over my enormous belly.  And the thing that really pissed me off about it was that I shouldn’t even have to wear leotards this time of year.  Please just someone who is about to die take this rant up to the Good Lord above.  Remind him that there are FOUR seasons in this shithole.  Not winter, sortawinter and fall.

Do you know what happens when you let a baby consume copious amounts of Pasta Fagioli soup from the Olive Garden?  It makes for one happen baby.

And the next day it makes for explosive diarrhea  and red bums.  Just when I was bragging to someone that we never had to deal with a diaper busting shit, karma came around a roundhouse kicked me in the balls. But I guess it could have been worse.  She could have had it in the tub.

My finger tips are getting more and more numb as each week passes.  And there is 12 weeks to go.  It feels like trying to do everything with mittens on.  Which is convenient, because I live in eternal  winter.And while pregnancy is busy turning you into Jabba the Hut, brace yourselves because it’s not done with you yet. It also makes your ass hurt.  So you’re too tired and sore to stand because your back and hips hurt, but also too sore to sit.  Donut, anyone?   Or can I offer you a pack of stool softeners?  How about a C-section?

The Destroyer says “mama” 1800 times a day now.  Especially when she doesn’t want to do something.  It’s almost accusatory.  Like ” don’t put me to bed, I need you mama.” How about we interchange the mama and dada in those whining situations, kid?  Since you’ve been gleefully saying that word since about birth.  I get it.  My name is for whining, his name is for good times.   If anybody needs me, I’ll be in my snow fort outside until June when the snow melts,praying I go into labour so that I can open the bottle of gin I’ll be caressing for the next 12 weeks.

Anyway.  That’s my Monday.