The Hangover

Today has been a struggle... I blame the hangover.

No, actually, I blame Husband

You see, I had a Girls Night Out last night (Not on a School Night!? I hear you gasp). Yes, on a School Night.

I was was supposed to drive, thereby limiting my wine intake to one solitary glass; enough to feel a part of the evening, but not to have to worry about the morning after.

However, just as I was putting the final touches to my make up, Husband came into the bathroom and uttered the fateful words:

"We'll give you a lift in. That way you can have a few drinks and enjoy yourself with the Girls. I'll even do the morning shift with the Little Monster"

Of course when he put it like that, how could I refuse!? In fact I felt it my duty to enjoy a glass of wine or four....

And despite a number of attempts to alternate between the glass of wine and the glass of water in front of me, I continually found the wine glass in my hand - sometime you just can't fight the Universe  J

So you see, it really is Husband's fault - not mine.


{images 1, 2}

Oh how I wish I drank coffee

I am a bleary eyed Mother today... and it's all my own fault.

Way back when the Little Monster was a wee thing (about 3 months old), he miraculously slept for the first time. I shared this joyous occasion with my mum's group, with all the energy and the smile of a new mother who has finally had some decent sleep.

As punishment for what he considered to be "showing off", the Little Monster spent the next week making sure that I woke up every two hours; feeding, cuddling, nappy change, singing, shushing - he wanted the lot.

So a month later, when he again slept through, I thought oho! I know this game. I'll keep my mouth shut until I am sure this is a regular occurrence. We had three nights in a row of solid sleep; I thought three nights meant it was his new schedule.

So once again, I bounded into my mum's group full of energy and a great big smile. And once again, I was punished for my naivety.

Lesson learnt; no more discussing my son sleeping habits.

Oh how quickly we forget...

Yesterday, I had an email from a work friend who is on maternity leave with her first child. She was desperately tired, and asked me how old the Little Monster was when he slept through.

I cheerfully replied that our Little Monster was a bit slow in the "regularly sleeping through department" (I call regularly at least 3 times a week, and he was about 15-months), but that now we usually get five full nights a week.

Apparently, I was showing off again.

Last night, the Little Bugger Monster had me up three times, before I finally gave up and fell on the sofa, Monster in arms. He, of course, slept like a log; a fidgeting, snoring, tyring-to-stick-his-hands-in-mummy's-bellybutton log.

Which meant that I didn't.

As I said, all my own fauly really.

Image from here

I heart my family!

Oh what another wonderful weekend!

I’m not sure what has changed, but the last few weekends have been such a fun filled family time. And at the end of those weekend, on the Sunday nights, as Husband and I lay in bed we look at each other and say “I have had a GREAT weekend”

This weekend we played in the park with the Little Monster’s cousins, and fed ducks with the grandparents. We went for a walk around the block. We had a family “Masterchef Finale” dinner with the in-laws, and the Little Monster was spoilt for choice of where to get his cuddles (and chocolate!) from. And we had a kajillion family cuddles – the best kind in my mind!  J

It’s funny when I think back to what a great weekend entailed for us in our previous life; meeting up with friends, copious amounts of alcohol, lots and lots of laughter and a sleep in.

These days, it would seem that a great weekend for our family requires the following; meeting up with family or friends preferably in a large child friendly space, copious amounts of children’s paraphernalia strewn all over the floor, lots and lots of laughter and an early night.

This will sound strange to say, but I finally feel like we are a proper family – we do things together, we have conversations (some more one sided than others!),  we enjoy each other’s company and we have fun as a family. Maybe it’s because Husband is no longer working on weekends. Or maybe it’s because the Little Monster has reached an age where we can interact and actually interact, if that even makes sense

Or maybe it’s because I am starting to find my role as A Mother to be more rewarding, and it’s starting to feel a little bit easier.

Yes there are always challenges, and there are often moments of “arrrgh!”, and I know that there will be plenty more!! But more often than not, when the Little Monster looks at me with his big blue eyes and says “More {insert word} Mumma. Pease?” I think to myself, Isn’t this fun? Aren’t you glad you’re his Mummy?

And you know what? I most certainly am!!

Pics - 1 and 2

The Story of Us - aka a Proposal to Remember

I've just read through my last post - hmmmm, t'was a tad... cranky, for want of a better word. So let me counter act that unpleasantness with the uplifting "Story of Us"...

Nearly 9 years ago, I was quietly sitting at my office desk, minding my own business, when a spunky young man who I had met before, and briefly chatted with, sat down at the desk next to mine and started talking.
A mere 15 minutes later, he walked away again. Leaving in his wake a young woman with a smile the size of the sun on her face; we had just arranged our first date! You see that cute guy who just left the building, he's my Boyfriend!!

Fast forward 6 years, during which time my Boyfriend and I had travelled to the UK, Jordan, Russia, Oman, Fiji; we had moved overseas to start a business and we had moved back to Australia to close a business.... It was a busy time!
We had just finished a 16-month stint of living in separate countries (not fun!) and were finally together again, in our little flat, re-discovering our bond as a full time couple.

We had talked about marriage before, and always came back to the point “but we know how we feel about each other, and our commitment to this relationship – lets be happy with that”, and we were.

And then I peed on a stick  J 

Fast forward another 9-months, during which time my belly had grown to outrageous proportions, my patience had shrunk, and I was waddling like a penguin. Sexy stuff!

After 3 days of pre-labour and 7 hours of labouring at home, I decided that it was time to go to hospital (don't worry, for those who are interested, our birth story will be another post!)

Just as we are about to leave the flat, my Boyfriend pulls me in to the baby's room.

"Are you ready?" He asks, with his arm around my shoulders.
I burst into tears, "No!" I cry, "I am not ready!"
And then out it comes (his proposal, people, not the baby!) "Melissa, I love you. I am so proud of you. I can't wait to meet this new person that we have made together, and I am so excited for our future. Will you marry me?"
I cried harder "Yes! Now can we please go to the hospital!?"
(Honestly? I cannot remember the exact phrasing used by my Boyfriend during the proposal. But bear in mind, I was in labour, very exhausted and an insanely heady mix of excited and terrified about what was to come (with the baby, people, not the wedding!)... so I have chosen to use some creative license in this particular narrative)

Totally not us!

Cut to 8 hours later, when my Fiance and I welcomed our beautiful Little Monster into the world, and all thoughts of proposals and weddings completely vanished from our heads, until we suddenly remembered to tell our families two weeks later.

My Husband and I were married April this year. After 8 ½ years of blissfully living in sin, and with a Little Monster in the mix, we finally decided to make it official.  J

Pics: 1 & 2 3

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