Grouchy

You know when you're grumpy for no {really} good reason?

You know when one minute you're feeling up beat and happy, and you want to just chat the day away with any one who will listen... and then the next minute you are channelling Oscar the Grouch, and just want everyone to bugger off and leave you alone??

Well that's me today.

This morning, despite a very broken night of sleep thanks to Husband, the Little Monster and the Bump!, I woke up in a pretty jolly mood.

I managed to get the Little Monster to daycare on time {the bus gods were smiling on me this morning}, and more amazingly, I managed to get into work ON TIME! Such a rarity; such an achievement!  hehehe

I had my performance review at work, which went really well - yay!

AND I have found a replacement daycare spot for the Little Monster whilst his usual lady is away on holiday.

So all in all, it had been a very good morning.

Then it all changed.

To be fair, I know exactly what set the Grump off; it was getting caught in a torrential down pour whilst walking back from the replacement daycare place.

I did have my brolly with my, but it's one of those cheap Two Dollar Shop specials that doesn't actually offer much protection.
So, my jeans are soaked from the knee down.
Because I wore my thongs for the walk, my feet are frozen.
And because I'm starting to feel really pregnant, I am now tired and sore from the long walk.

So really, I'm pregnant, tired, sore AND grumpy. What a delightful combo...

My advice? Steer clear of me until tomorrow!!
Or at least until I've had a kilo of chocolate  :)

How do you combat the Grumpy Monster when it unwittingly rears it's grouchy head? What are your coping mechanisms? {maybe I can borrow them?!}

{images from here and here}

What's my age again?

 

I tell people that I'm 29.

My official line is “I tried being 30 for a year and didn’t like it, so I went back to being 29”. It usually gets me a polite laugh or two.

But I’m not sure how much longer I can get away with it.

Last weekend we went to a 21st birthday party at a very trendy pub in a pricey part of town. For the first time ever, I felt out of place and worse; I felt OLD.

It may have had something to do with the fact that I was out after 9pm on a Friday night (my bedtime these days is 9.30pm)

It may have had something to do with the fact that I haven't surrounded myself with 21 year olds since, well... my 21st.

Or - most likely - it may have had something to do with the girls dressed up to the nines in their slinky dresses, with towering strappy high heels, and boobs that don't hang down to their bellybuttons. Whilst I was dressed comfortably in jeans (that most likely had toddler snot on them), a sparkly top that hides a multitude of sins, and boots with a sensible heel.

And jealousy is not a factor here people, I can assure you... yeah right!

It certainly didn’t help that we were caught talking to a peppy 23 year old real estate agent, who was on a fantastic salary, still lived at home, owned his own investment property and was expecting a very large commission check for a very large deal he had just completed.... WHAT THE?!

When I was 23, I was on a mediocre salary, living at home (because I had no choice), wasn’t even aware of the term “investment property” and was expecting a large hangover from a night out with my friends!!

These days I’m on a good salary, wishing I still lived at home (for the free laundry service!), wondering when I will ever be able to afford my own property – let alone an investment, and I expect there will be a large pile of dishes to wash when I get home...

Jeez, I tell you what, as much as people like to complain and moan and take the piss out of Gen Y – these kids are on to a good thing, and they seem to be savvy enough to make the most out of it.

Anyhoo (can’t quite work out how a blog about my age turned into a rant about Gen Y!)

The thing is, until I went to that party, I had been feeling pretty happy about my real age. Yes, of course I hate ageing – and who doesn't!? – but I have sort of accepted it.

I still FEEL 23 on the inside, I still act like a petulant teenager more often that I should, and I still get a shock when I look in the mirror and the face staring back has a smattering of wrinkles and a few grey hairs (what the hell happened to the smooth skinned 23 year old!??). Yet, for the most part, I'm happy with my position in the age bracket... For now.

Of course, I have no intention of “aging gracefully”. There’s an email that does the rounds every now and then about living life to the full:

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, champagne in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"

And that's how I want to do it, worn out (possibly drunk) and happy... Oh there may be a touch of Botox involved, and possibly some surgery to stop me from tripping over my boobs - but you get the gist J

Oh and just so you know, the next time I go out, I’m dressing up  J

Pictures 1 and 2