I am fed up with trying to cram full-time work into 2 hours a day, and thereby rendering myself largely ineffectual on all fronts, professional, personal and domestic, and letting everyone down on a daily basis.

I am fed up with the PMT that leaves me a savage, teary ruin of a personality prior to every period haemorrhagic nightmare.

I am so fed up with pain. Grown-up, debilitating, wearying, crying-on-the-bathroom-floor pain. I am fed up with firing desperate salvoes of drug combinations down my throat, toward my fucking, fucking, fucking uteri. I think, from empirical observation, that endometriosis has colonised my bladder. I’m worried that when they eventually open me up, they’ll tell me that everything’s got to come out. Now. No more babies. This much pain is not conducive to sanguinity.

I am fed up with mopping up puddles of piss on the carpet. In fact, when I’m really annoyed, I no longer bother. I just leave it to dry. I don’t care anymore. Then I wonder why it smells horribly of piss when Harry spills his drink, and I remember, and cry with pent-up frustration before trudging off to fetch soapy water.

I have a friend on one phone, her mental boat in precariously choppy water, while my work phone rings and rings and rings and fucking rings; I can see Harry in a room he shouldn’t be, emptying the entire salt cellar over the table and floor, before he spys the (badly concealed) old box of lego from out of the loft that was also filled with mouse shit, instantly up-emptying it on to the carpet, where he is so delighted by the play possibilities that he forgets to run to the potty and pisses through his pants on top of it all instead. I’m tied to my chair: I really, really can’t put the phone down on my friend, I can’t reach my other phone to stop it endlessly ringing with ansaphone messages, and I can’t stop Harry playing in the urine-covered mouse shit. The boring, piercing pain in my left uterus still isn’t letting up, and I become aware that my sanitary towel is now beyond capacity, and my trousers are getting bloodstained.

I want to go home. I am home.

I am angry and sad at the blatant discrimination displayed by our local primary school teacher last week. No matter how positively I move the episode forward from here with her superiors, the memory will stick: it is the first time that Harry has met with personal rejection because of the problems he has, and John and I were so, so very hurt and offended.

If I read any more bitchiness and posturing on Twitter, I shall close my account on the fucking thing. Not that anyone would actually give a rat’s ass whether I’m on there or not, but I’ve better things to do with my time. I’ve got to go and wash mouse shit and toddler piss off lego, for a start.


31 Responses

  1. I only lurk really, but let me be the first to say that I am sorry you are wading through a steaming mound of life s**t and you are obviously a good friend not to have ended the call.

  2. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.

    I wish I lived close enough to come and help you mop up, and maybe let Harry run with my herd for a bit while you lie down with a cool washcloth over your eyes.

    Hang in there, lady. I won’t be so naive as to promise you that everything currently going wrong will be OKAY, but eventually I can assure you that it will be OVER.

  3. I am so sorry you are having such a rough time. Life isn’t fair and you don’t deserve any of it. The primary school discrimation is particularly bad in my eyes, because at least the rest is nobody’s deliberate fault, but why go into teaching if you don’t like helping people to learn?!

  4. Blood, piss and mouse shit, not a good combination. Can sympathise over the endometriosis, as I had my uterus (and the ovary that was stuck to it) removed with great joy when I was 37 for that very reason. However, by then, I had managed to produce two sons amongst the multiple miscarriages and ovarian cysts. The only things I found vaguely beneficial were ponstan forte tablets and a regimen of almost continuous progesterone.

    Bee is right, you are a good friend and I’m sure your friend is very glad too have you.

    Would it be better to put Harry back into nappies for a while? There seems to be far too much going on in your lives to deal with potty training successfully at the moment.

    Finally, re the school, blatant ignorance from those who should know better is not to be tolerated. Complain long, loud and hard!

  5. Another lurker moved to cyber support, what a mousy pissy bloody nightmare. As for the school, polite words fail me. I just hope (please) Harry wasnt aware of it.

  6. I’m so sorry life is a steaming pile of muck for you right now. You deserve better.

  7. Oh, no. I wondered why you were quiet. I am SO sorry for this shit storm – it is just TOO MUCH, on too many fronts. You poor girl. It WILL pass.

    Also, I am really angry about the discrimination you have experienced. It makes my blood BOIL.That’s utterly outrageous. What is wrong with people??

    Ann, I trust if there’s anything I can do, you’ll say the word, yes? You have a veritable army here waiting for the off, do not forget.

  8. I am so very sorry. I wish I could make you a nice cup of tea and give you something nice to eat, preferably with all calories removed. There is just too much of this for you lately.
    The previous commenters are correct. You are indeed a good friend, and maybe that bread cast upon the waters will return. And if not, as is so frequently the case, at least you will know you did the right thing.
    Also, in the UK do you have an enzyme product called Nature’s Remedy that removes urine odors from carpets and furniture? It works pretty well, I think, and was recommended to me by a friend whose son had a crazed squirrel invade his dormitory room, leaving urine and feces all over. I hope the image of a furious squirrel trapped in a teenage boy’s bedroom can bring you a moment of cheer. No?
    Best wishes and hopes things will improve.

  9. I wish I had a remedy for all of these things for you. But all I can suggest is a carload of opiates…or a personal assistant. A personal assistant would be good.

    Hoping things improve. Immediately.

    And re: the personal rejection and discrimination…is that teacher sure he/she should be teaching?

  10. All’s I can do is type my empathy out on this screen. Bloody lot of good that’ll do in practical terms, but please know I’d wash the Lego and carpets for you if I could. A large pond and the searing exhaustion of new mommydom prevent me from being there post haste…

    Hang in there!!!

    • Oh, and I would love to volunteer to take that “teacher” down a peg or two… She should know better. *growl*

  11. I love you very much. Very much indeed, and this is not said as someone who shared a bed 0.2 seconds away from you.

    I second the earlier comment – nappy time. It’ll save you a little bit of angst. After all, the lovely Harry won’t go off to his A levels in Huggies. No really.

    And the rest: I have nothing assvice-y except that if you want to come visit, I’m your girl. How soon would you like? Anything you need. And remember – the friend who needs you will be there for you when you need her. And she will remember you were there for her during the very dark time she’s in. Karma’s good like that. You were there for me and to this day, pick a windmill and I will tilt at it.

    Oh, and quit Twitter. You’ll not regret.

    I leave with this: You are a brilliant mum. Wait, lemme’ forgo my rules: YOU ARE A BRILLIANT MUM. I’ve seen a few, I know these things, and mouse shit will come and go (yes really) but Harry will never ever doubt that he was loved and loved truly.

  12. Can’t say much except: AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGHHH on your behalf.

  13. Hey I give a rat’s ass! I want to send you a Downton Abbey’s worth of domestic staff so you don’t have to deal with pee-y carpets plus a new teacher for that school so you can concentrate on you. Sending you sympathies until I can manage the former. In assvice corner I third the nappy suggestion. Wanting things to get better for you double quick.

  14. Nothing more to add except to say that I’m reading and I hope things get better.

  15. A a complete stranger to you, I hereby tender my opinion that you are, in fact, pretty damn awesome. There’s a level of strength needed to silently deal with the crap of day to day, and then there’s the supersize strength version where you actually write it all out and put it out there for the world. You have, in the most delicate terms I can use, made this pain-and-pee-filled day your bitch. You have owned it, and captured it, and I admire you for that.

  16. Oh Christ. This isn’t good. I wish I could magic you a break, a proper break. And a carpet deep clean. And secretary. And new inclusive primary school.

    I hope you’ve reached the bottom and things can only go up.

    And twitter is for losers any way (which is why I only have the 3 accounts).

  17. Oh, Ann, sweetie. Hugs hugs hugs. Wondering how to explain to my boss that I NEED the day off so I can go shampoo someone’s carpets.

    I’m sorry about your friend. I’m ALMOST sorry you’re such a good friend to her. I think I would’ve totally asked her to call back in an hour, even if she was weeping.

    The school-teacher is a.. a…, well, it begins with C, and I normally apply the term solely to Piers Morgan.

    Re: your insides, [puts patronising assvice hat on], please to go pee in a pot for the GP. A UTI can cause bleeding and AGONISING CRAMPS, and can get much worse during the Special Lady Time, because of hormones (effin’ hormones. Should be banned). I was told all this when the pain of one bloody hospitalised me for what should have been a pathetically early miscarriage (oh, OK, I haemorrhaged as well. But the red-hot shrapnel pain? Stupid bladder. Mind you, I suspect mine is stuck to the front wall of my uterus again… Wait, what? This comment isn’t about me? Oops, sorry). Anyway. If you can find a minute somewhere in all the TO-DO LIST FROM HELL you are trudging through, check, as no need to be flattened by horribleness in ALL organs if it isn’t strictly necessary.

    [Takes off assvice hat, as it is becoming hot and uncomfortable]

    Did I say hugs? I shall say it again. Hugs. Useless, helpless, hand-wringing hugs.

  18. Am not sure what happened with the primary school teacher, but I am annoyed about it, and am quite happy to offer slapping to said teacher when we get back to the UK.
    Don’t know anything about toilet-training, so can’t help on that front, but I second May’s advice re the UTI. They can hurt like buggers.
    And just… sending virtual chocolate cake, a cup of tea, a hug, and maybe unplug/turn off all your phones for just one day… x

  19. Sometimes life just sucks.
    But hugs can help so I’m sending you some…..

  20. This sucks big time.


    And whatever practical help I can give. We’re only down the road. You still on for that playdate?

  21. I would give a rat’s ass if you left Twitter. Also I would help you clean up the mouse poop. And find you better drugs, and contribute to the mob bitchslapping of that teacher. And I wish I could do something more than sing “ooo, child, things are gonna get easier,” but they WILL.

  22. Oh, I can emphathize with you right now. Too much going on, and not enough of it good!

    Just wanted to know that I’m thinking of you and hoping things settle down a bit for you soon.

  23. What to say? What would you like to hear? This is where the blogosphere is inadequate. Would love to pour you a cuppa, and fill a bucket with water and fairy liquid and get going on the carpet and the lego myself.

    Someone changed my life a little a few months ago by telling me “Ask for what you need”. Does this help you? Can you (a) ask your friend to please, please understand, but you need to phone her back later? (b) ask your boss for whatever it is that will make your work manageable? (c) ask John – or someone – to clean the carpet or whatever household task is the one that sends you over the edge? (d) ask the school for whatever you need for Harry.

    I think it’s to do with living in America, where they’re less afraid of being assertive and drawing boundaries, but I’ve found it much easier to cope with things since this piece of advice was imparted to me.

    But if it doesn’t hit the spot for you, just ignore it, and join in with this instead: aaaaaaaaaarrrgh.

  24. *sits down*
    *pats hand*
    *gently suggests nappies are definitely an ok option at this point. Much better than pee on carpet. And child. And self*
    *pats arm*
    *wonders what’s up on twitter (never got the allure of it, myself)*

  25. “I want to go home. I am home.” Aw, honey. It is an arrow straight to the heart to read that, because it pinpoints that awful lost, helpless, miserable feeling so perfectly. I am so sorry you’re feeling like this. It gives me a little echo in the pit of my stomach to think of a teacher discriminating against a child. And it sucks to be in that middle stage of not-quite-potty-trained but you really don’t want to go backwards, either. Finally mice, ugh, we used to live in the country and I lost all guilt about horrible traps after deep cleaning the utensil drawers and all the utensils within…. AGAIN.

    I wish I could do something. Maybe it’s just me being American too but I like what the poster above said, ask for what you need: from us, from whoever offers, from people who don’t. Over here it’s hard to do much but listen and think of you, but I’m totally game for that.

    Many hugs. I hope you’re feeling better physically and that that makes it easier to feel better emotionally.

  26. You are all very, very good to me, and I don’t deserve you. That is all.

  27. Adding my voice to those that wish you well, and better than well. The internet is wonderful for bringing people together from far away, but crap when it comes to frustrating one’s desires to REALLY help. I’d clean your lego, really I would. I’d do anything to cheer you up….

  28. So very sorry to hear about the incident with the school teacher. No offence to ourselves hurts anywhere near as much as offence to our kids. That sucks bum!

  29. Holding your hand.

    I would mop your floor if I could.

  30. I was so busy having a crappy time of my own I totally and selfishly forgot that some people are having a crappier time. I am so sorry that this is happening to you and I don’t know whether to send you hugs or a virtual laser cannon, or maybe both. Bless you, bless you, bless you. When things are better for both of us let us go and eat many things and drink much wine and swear at the

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: