Somedays its just not worth chewing through the leather straps...

... in monumental style I had a mood swing last night. Warning bells started ringing. 'Do you THINK I could be post natal, DH??'... and he looked at me You didn't KNOW that??.

Why he suddenly expected me to start knowing stuff after knowing me as long as he has ...

It was bad. Not weepy but bad. Couldn't move my arms and just really really off-centre. I made a resolution to not let it affect the way I dealt with Boss and woke up really chirpy. OK well not *REALLY* but boy it was as good as it gets in this house.
By the time we'd made it down the stairs we'd already almost killed each other and I was convinced this would be the day I packed my bags. And if I could have found any I would. And if I could have found any clothes to pack in them in my Ben Nevis size ironing pile I would.

But I didn't. Instead I went into town to get provisions since we have nothing in the house. It was a big mistake. I bitched all round town. I tongue-lashed a dickhead who made the comment about my baby "Oh look a pakistani baby with blue eyes" and you know it isn't a good idea to take me on anyway, but put me on post natal alert with attitude on an over-cast day and you and me are going to have words. So almost started a fight outside John Lewis which was only averted by an apology *which really p*ssed me off as I really wanted to take him down BAD*. F*ckwit.

Then Boss touched stuff on the shelves, and I lost the will to live and I just stropped round town only stopping to ask myself why I was bothering. We looked at a fire engine. I looked for wrinkle cream because Omigod I am an old lady with grey hair and a road map for a face. My children are killing from the brain outwards. They are literally sucking my sap and leaving the withered shell. I looked for mascara and girly stuff like that. But that depressed me too - I don't need make-up - I need grouting. I look like a carthorse in a bin liner and I'm fat. What's a bit of slap going to do. And Boss just kept whining COME OOOOOOOOOOOON one too many times and I almost picked him up by his lapel and pinned him against a wall. I slapped his bum (OK it wasn't a slap it was a tap ) for touching the pram (because it nearly fell over as it was so overloaded. No not his fault and I *am* sorry. But at the time I *did* have the urge to pound both my fists into the pavement in irrational rage ) and I just wanted to ram my goddamn fist down his f*cking throat pretty much all morning for, you know, talking. I usually love to hear his banter- it makes me smile and glow from inside to listen to his (endless) chatter but today it was just fingernails down a chalkboard and all I could think was "Omigod I have to stop this crap from leaving his mouth. I have to stop this endless noise. I must buy duct tape or I am going to rip his f*cking tongue out".

I mentioned I had a mood swing?

So we get home and my monitor has an embolism and now I've got this sh*thole monitor that's got a ten inch screen. I can't see anything and have to scroll everywhere. And now my eyes hurt. The only "up" of my net search was reading Hannah's blog which made me LOL at the thought of other peoples' children being as annoying as mine. And why *do* children eat pea-bugs and not food?? You know, if I smeared yogurt on the toilet seat I am sure he would be chuckling with delight at how clever he was at finding such a moumental stock of food at such a convenient height. But put it on a spoon and have hygienic wipes to hand - what am I - a sadist????

Then my children start sneezing and crying and sneezing and wailing and sneezing and wailing and crying and it is at this particular point I consider ramming a screwdriver through my temple to end the pain. But luckily it is zuhr and I make wudu instead. And I pray whilst snot runs down noses and everyone wails. I am thinking of moving to the local council estate so we can fit in withour surroundings better. I pitch in and scream at the top of my lungs but it doesn't make them stop (you know "Oh dear we've pushed Mum too far, let's stop" No. They just look *really* frightened and scream louder. Great). Then my ears start bleeding and I look for something with which I can impale my brain on. Ok not really. But the DH comes down stairs and says his throat hurts he has fever and is really achey. *Great I'm really looking forward to catching THIS one*, so I figure everyone is genuinely hurting and not out to get me.

So I trundle out the Nurofen and pour it down my family's throat like a Mommy Bird handing out the worms. They whine and wail and gnash gums.

Dh has to goto Milk Clinic to pick up milk. I specifically ask him for Cow and Gate because the Fuhrer is off Farleys. And no wonder. It makes me gag. It tastes like fish crap. Which is probably what it is. And he comes back with.... Farleys!! Wahey - life gets better and better. So I don't kill him instantly because I want an explanation and want to think about what torture to administer and how I plan to hurt him BAD. When he tells me that the old fart who doles out the milk at the Lawn Clinic says he can't have Cow and Gate and hey, why are you getting your coat on you can't go there and start a fight... what the... stop biting me.... listen, she's just doing her job and... do you want me to go back... I'm not taking you you'll kill her. What do you mean "and?". So I decided to try and get her fired instead and am writing a letter to someone who can do that. I'm guessing The Queen is a safe bet. It's only fair - she's screws my day up and I'll screw her life up. It's just milk, I hear you cry. Oh don't get me started. It may be just milk to YOU but have you seen your 7 month old dry heave when he sees the bottle?? He hates this brand. And that's not the point, this is the THIRD time that bitch has done this. I have to take her down.

Then, bliss. The kids stop crying. I regain consciousness. I start loving and caring and cuddling my kids and worry about their welfare. I am normal. My brain isn't broken and perhaps my rash decision to rush to the GPs and demand an instant injection of "something" straight into my jugular wasn't the best idea I've ever had.

Tomorrow, as they say, is another day. I just don't want to start fearing them.



I'm still going to get that bitch fired though.