Little Miss.Scrubby Pants

 

Morning all! I’ve completely disappointed myself. There I was…being part of the world, representing my piece of life, as a contribution to the history of the universe and what did I find myself doing, after PROMISING my soul that I wouldn’t even EVER consider such an alarming act of disgrace. I found myself, in the name of ‘nesting’ on my hands and knees, full face on, hair in an updo, flipping SCRUBBING the GODDAMN upstairs bathroom floor! UGH! I’m so disappointed in myself. Like that moment has got to be one of those moments where i know that i’ve officially hit rock bottom.

I’ve just dropped Ruby off at nursery, (she didn’t fancy it today due to Keiran being home, she’s rather flirt with Daddy all day and read ‘Cinderella’ with him that learn her A,B, C’s today.) Anyway, i told them how I had fallen over to the dark side and let pregnancy beat me down to the point where I found myself floor scrubbing, in order to organize and cleanse my ‘nest’ for the arrival of ‘le bump.’ Donna…who’s Ruby’s ‘Key carer’ explained to me that it really wouldn’t be long now, as she had a floor scrubbing break out and out of nowhere she was legs in stirrups pushing a bambino out into the world. Then Lisa the owner, claimed that she was disappointed that i hand’t thought of some kind of cunning ‘Wunna’ scheme to rock into labour already during the weekend. She then asked if I actually scrubbed the floor in my ‘glamourous face.’ (I like that I have lots of faces, a glamourous one, a maungey one, a happy one, a sly one, a sexy one, an angry one…the list is endless, yet divine. I keep each face int he fridge by champagne and decide which one I fancy after coffee.) I explained to Lisa how disgraced I was in myself for being so domesticated and then assured her that I completely wore my whole entire, fully lashed face. I remember that I was pissed off because I didn’t do it tanned. 🙂 I’m that tragic. Leave me. I’m pregnant. I don’t actually remember going through a ‘nesting’ phase with Ruby because I was working so much. I honestly SWORE down that i would NEVER be BENDING DOWN, unless God had place diamonds on the floor, let along bending down and scrubbing a floor for no other reason than ‘having a baby’ and madness. Keiran loves it. He’s delighted that i’ve become do ‘Domestic Goddess.’ It’s shocked him and I don’t think he can quite believe his eyes. I accidentally got a lot done yesterday, which made hin ‘WHOA’ with confusion when he returned from his long shift at work yesterday. His ideal version of ‘perfect housewife’ glowed at him with delight. I think all this maddness has occured because I can’t see my ‘privates.’ I need to be able to see my vagina and then once I do, I’ll remember who I am, what I am, what I represent and what my purpose in life is. Until then…i’m here..sorting out clothes, scrubbing floors, gussets and my dignity away with one harsh heave-ho of elbow grease.

I let myself down yesterday on ‘chill day.’ Chill days are meant for shopping, laying around and massages. Not thinking, ‘ooh what i can do around the house.’ EWW! I need to make sure i’m not left to my own devices during this time. I’m going bonkers. I’m scrubbing door handles and double washing clothes that i keep thinking has stains on? I have OCD. It feel terrible. I think i need a ‘Pass-out’ rum. (That#s a rum that you think will make you shimmie, but you’ve had so much of it that it simply makes you pass out. You’ve all been there. It sucks.)

Ruby is as happy as can be. A bit of a snotty nose, but loving life right now. Keiran’s turned the living room into a man cave. The black curtains are closed and the telly is on, as he is naked under thick quilts and blankest with 3 pillows fast asleep. He’s gobbled up 5 crumpets, a tea and a bowl of Fruit and Fibre. He worked his little arse off over the weekend and well yesterday he we texted each other almost every few moments. It was cute etxing because now that we’re married, we never ever do, unless it’s to inform the other of something important, like a nursery run, or a question about an invoice, or tea. Yesterday we texted like we were dating again. It was cute, like when we first met and fancied each other. It sort of added ‘le spice’ into the relationship once more. Not that anything can be done about ‘le spice’ right now…sitting on willies is currently quite far from my capabilities. I can’t put my socks on, or get up off a sofa without a crane and a moaney face. This bump is officially huge. I’m in the stage where I need to walk around naked in order to feel free, but  can’t because I’ve stupidly ordered so much stuff on line that all my deliveries are deciding to come today…including a bed. It’d be a bit of a shock for them really to have me, with my nipples out, attached to zulu warrior boobies and a giant alien bump with a smile at the patio door, beckoning at them with a cuppa tea in my hand. I want my nails doing and I don’t know if i’m allowed. Am I? If you’re a preggo message me pronto.

The good thing is that my mum has taken a 2 week leave off work to adore me during this last bit of preggo time, when I could go into labour. I love that. It makes me feel loved. I’m getting really excited about it all, yet very aware of the actual pain that i’m going to have go through to receive the victory cheer. *HURRAH* (Not.)

I’m having an epidural, well intending on having one because i’m certainly to posh to push and well i’m keeping myself occupied liek no other. I’ve out, about and running all sorts of insania errands that a 9 month old preggo shouldn’t even be considering. You have to or you’ll go mental.I’m also hallucinating…which i’m finding bizarre. Maybe i’m not even pregnant and i’ve just eating all the pies and popped a bunch of pills. Tomorrow i have wardrobes to collect and well all sorts. Save me from myself. Bring on this birth. (I’ve taken my bra off. Fuck it. It killed. I need freedom and my Miss.World wig.)

I want to decorate my whole entire home and I need to do it right now until my waters break and I have a son. Why hasn’t he come yet? I’m not overdue, but if he doesn’t come soon, i’m sure my ‘whoop-dee’ will turn to stone.

Ps/ I enjoy that my morning has turned into me suggesting that @HannahTapDances (Wazza’s lovely lady) turns her beautiful, fairy lit shed into a Santa’s Grotto at Christmas. My exact quote: (After she praised me with a ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

You see a beautifully lit garden shed. I see a *grab everyone’s child, stick Wazza in it as Santa and charge them extortionate amounts  to sit on his knee for a pressie.’ 

Then she told me that I had to be the elf…(I did used to be a grotto elf, it wasn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be.)

 

(Their fairy lit outhouse.)

PPS/ I also wrongly handed out Man Points’ to my dear friedn Blond Emma’s Hubby to be, who’s Facebook status displayed undying love for his beautiful wife to be. (His comment list was filled with notes from his guy friends calling him a ‘Bender.’ 🙂 ) Anyway, i thought i’d give him a little encouragement, as I adore a bit of romance and well Blond Emma deserves it. I was further told that he only plonked up lovely romantic stuff, due to the fact that he had just got into trouble with the darling Emma, so he was attempting to redeem himself. It’s a good way as all girls adore public displays of affection. However, I’m all about tough love, so I took his points away and stated that he needed to gift her with a very expensive material object, that quenches her taste for luxury..with flowers. #girlpower I mean, look at Keiran. He’s got the act of ‘flower giving’/expensive gift giving’ down now. It works.

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