… and about 4 days off a nervous breakdown.
- I have a one year old who refuses to go to sleep and consequently I am having to break off between writing other word to stuff my face with a mouthful of chocolate
- I have a four year old who’ll need to be picked up from nursery in about an hour’s time despite having only been there about an hour, which means I have to type very fast to avoid ANOTHER month going by without any record (so much for this blog being my diary)
- I have a desk littered with stationery samples as I try – totally in vain – to convince myself that if I search far and wide enough I can find a printers to supply invitations built as solidly as Friend Who Got Married In St Pauls despite me only having 10th of the stationery budget.
- I have a mother due to arrive to babysit in a few hours time who’ll want a typed minute by minute guide of the children’s tea and bedtime and how to work the TV (only 3 separate controls required; can’t see the problem)
- I have friends who populate Facebook with Love! Joy! Laughter! Tears! Funny Quips!, which when I’m in this mood make me devoid of any good humour at all, and yet I masochistically still log-on to make my humour even blacker.
- I have a one year old STILL YELLING despite being knackered after being taken for a run around Tesco by the four year old this morning, requiring me to have to ask people to help search for them.
- I have acquired a total control-freak personality which means my blood pressure rises exponentially when people don’t reply to my emails IMMEDIATELY, or wedding ring websites don’t work FAST ENOUGH, or someone suggests I need to make ANOTHER DECISION about something (and yet can I delegate? No..)
- I tell everyone that I’m quite relaxed about the wedding and am sure some things will go wrong and we’ll all cope, while inside I’m panicking because I haven’t done a final run through all the blinking wedding magazines I bought last year to pull out the things that I was interested in, and Oh My God what if I miss something?
- I have a kitchen covered with porridge thrown around by the one year old this morning. It sets like cement and it’s just so tiresome cleaning it all up when you know it’s going to happen all over again the next morning.
On the plus side it’s now quiet upstairs. So I’ll have just one more chocolate and then get on with life. Or perhaps go and have a lie down for an hour with a cold compress.