Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Sunday, 30 March 2014

Unexploded Guests

After the crash on Friday I haven't yet managed to write anything more creatively (not that I usually manage to write creatively anyway, but it's sad to waste the opportunity) but there has been quite a busy weekend with all manner of people coming over for all manner of reasons. Naturally, I have songs playing in my head all the time as a consequence.

As ever, I put the 'read more' link below as a sort of safeguard for people who read my intro and decide that they don't want to go further. There shall be talk of Norman Conquest England, trampolines, miscarriages, self-indulgence and poor parenting. Expect rumination on lack of sex and the like, because I am somewhat self-obsessed.

What more could I add.
We were expecting a visit. And the visitor came. She recently had a miscarriage. Her husband and her have worked through it but, because they played things safe and didn't tell many people that they were expecting, there was no one they could talk to afterwards to get it all talked out. Worse, it was late enough on that the foetus sort of hung around after death and had to be removed later by operation. That is, two weeks after discovering that the baby you thought you were carrying to term after the usual end of worry you end up still carrying the dead weight, literally, before they operate. That's some fucked up shit right there. So, as Tilly has had experience in this matter and was one of the people that this person told about having a baby in the first place, it makes sense that they came to Tilly to talk it through.

As usual our children loved her and she played with them back. The Boy, who tends not to talk to people directly at all (unless they're me or Tilly), begged her to stay. Twice. After she asked him to repeat it. Let me just spell this out, the Boy does not repeat himself for anyone. Perhaps unsurprisingly then, the visitor stayed. And she and Tilly ended up drinking wine (I had a beer) whilst I played DJ for the 'guess the song from the 90s' ritual that Tilly and I sometimes share. Then, around 2am (because of BST), I sorted the bed out for our visitor.

Earlier that day I had arranged with the Girlie to go shopping for Mother's Day but she threw a strop and it ended up being just the Boy and I after a number of earlier shopping errands whilst Tilly nursemaided a Girlie who was by turns stropping and complaining of illness and a Boy with purple bags under his eyes (the Girlie thought Saturday was Mother's Day and had woken the Boy at 5am to come and surprise Mummy - I had only just managed to intercept but too late to stop them waking Tilly - and we all know how that pans out). I'd had an energy drink. I was thus tired, irritable and grumpy.

Holy shit.

What was the Girlie thinking?
Come this morning and, once again, the Girlie was up at 5am (yes, even withe the hour going forwards) but this time I intercepted more successfully and got her and the Boy, whom she had woken again, downstairs. There the Girlie managed to cut up the wrapping paper badly whilst I was searching for sellotape and thus stropped early morning. Wonderful. Visitor and Tilly rose slightly later (around 7.30am) and a Mother's Day was had. Did I mention spending a goodly portion of yesterday putting up a trampoline with two children hanging on bits of it the whole time because Tilly and our visitor were having deep and meaningfuls? I didn't. Ah, yes, that happened. I have been opposed to buying one for... uh... well, since it was first mooted in 2008. I haven't given in, but I have been out manoeuvred and we now have a trampoline. That I put up. I digress. The children went trampolining with our visitor and I got a chance to have a wash.

Oh, yes, Maz is a doula. And a damn'
good one.
Then I took our visitor back to the rail station (I picked her up yesterday too) and then got in provisions for a lunch with the next set of visitors, arrival time just before me. Maz, Pete and their three children: Jenny, Dylan and Rachel (names, as always, changed). It was fine but... well, a tired Girlie hurt her leg on the trampoline, all the children ended up on and off the damn' thing like bloody yo-yos and there were tears before bedtime. In fact, the Girlie stropped multiple times - that is: screaming at the top of her lungs and crying and, if she could, she'd swear.

In amongst all of this carry on, I did manage to kiss my wife, who seemed to enjoy it. However, afterward stated that she felt ill and could I please not try to hug, hold hands, kiss or anything else. So I remain dejected.

I mean, there's serious shit with the whole miscarriage thing, I know, and mountains of emotional baggage to wade through. And the early mornings and the Girlie's strops and the cleaning of shit. I guess I deal with things differently. I always do, truth be told.

Oh, I don't know what I'm writing any more.

No comments:

Post a Comment

All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!