There is no going back.
You are standing in the shower, contemplating what is life and you realise (while not being able to shave your vagina with ease anymore) that you are going to be a mum. Like a real life, pram pushing, sleep deprived, non hair washing, make up less mum. *cue smack in the face here*
No, no I’m fine. I am TOTALLY fine.
I have been having some major freak outs of late and my poor other half is copping it reaaallll good. I had the crying thing under control and I was fine with that – until – Valentines Day! G had been way for two weeks so I was home alone, feeling sorry for myself (not really – totes had ice cream for dinner) and it was our anniversary. Nothing big but when you are well into your pregnancy, feeling like Jabba the Hutt you just want some love. Doesn’t have to be all up in my grill love, but maybe some ‘here, I’ll rub your feet while you eat Ben and Jerry’s (Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough – you’re welcome). Nope, none of that. He’s overseas and I am here growing a human based on a diary diet. To be honest, I was actually really enjoying the ‘me’ time. I had the whole bed to myself (who knew the middle of the bed was SOOOO much better) and I could have a shower on my own (seriously buddy, there is no longer room for the two of us in here).
He finally gets home just before Valentines Day, hell yes, I’m goIng to be so spoilt with love and all the things he got me. I make some cupcakes (totes a great wifey – packet mix – no one knows) and write this amazingly and heart warming note in a card. It had all the usual stuff, I love you, You make me so happy, You will be the best dad eccetera eccetera. He gives me perfume (which I tell you right now, he is lucky I liked it and could stand the smell because I swear Marc Jacobs sales have gone down since I fell pregnant). This is where hell broke loose – he gave me a card with no writing in it.
Not a single word. Not a ‘oh hey baby mama, you da best and I love your booty’. Absolutely nothing.
WHAT. THE. F#@K!
I lost it – full on crazy ex girlfriend, burn your clothes and hack your Facebook type of flip out. The poor guy just stood there, mouth open, slowing backing out of the bedroom. No words – NO BLOODY WORDS – ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? I spent 10 minutes writing a beautiful card and I get a folded piece of cardboard with a generic statement in it. You know what? F@$%&*#$%K YOOOUUUUUUUU! The tears started flowing and there was no coming back. I was literally sobbing about a stupid card. A stupid card that the guy who puts up with all my moods and bitchiness and adores me like no other gave me. Take me back to being 5 years old and sobbing while you can’t breathe and snot is just flowing out of both nostrils, my eyes were stinging from the mascara I hadn’t removed and I was hysterical. Ooopsss soz babe, it’s the hormones?
After a good 3 hours I calmed down. I had gotten it out of my system and finally he was laying with me apologising for not writing any words in the card while stroking my hair (I’m pretty sure he was preparing to strangle me but as I’m so cute he changed his mind – right?)
I’m sorry my love, I can’t promise it won’t happen again but know this – just tell me you understand and bring the ice cream and it will be all ok (for that day at least, can’t guarantee I’ll want any of that the next day.)