My weekend was hard. I got told I'm getting fat, and for some reason it really cut to the bone. I got told I'm cranky... and yes, I was cranky. I was tired and not wanting to be on the service desk dealing with stupid returns all day. A serious dose of cbf .
Plus from about 2pm I had serious Braxton Hicks and they were not fun. I need a stool and possibly shorter shifts.
Plus I'm not sleeping well (with recurring, nasty, wake up in a sweat dreams) because of anxieties:
- having a csection
- having a less than physically perfect bub but being blamed for the choices we've made re scans
- having something go wrong that is My Fault because of what I eat or the exercise I do/don't do
- having to formula feed
And then there's the grief I got from my aunt because I have nothing to do with my mother, who lives locally, and she (mother) doesn't as yet know about bubba. And my aunt is distressed to know the situation but not want to be involved when the shit hits the fan and my mother finds out. Why yes, family dynamics are teh fucked around here.
And I don't care. I have made it clear to my mother that unless she has nothing to do with my older brother, I want nothing to do with her. As he has a daughter whom my mother (really creepily) dotes on, she is not about to cut off that contact, ergo I have nothing to do with them.
It's not that hard to work out, is it?
And I don't HAVE to tell ANYONE about my pregnancy and the last thing I want to do is to sell out my child to have a relationship with my mother.
And then there's the drama of wtf am I going to do next year with uni and a newborn, but not wanting to defer for another year until I finish.
And settling an insurance claim from an accident 2.5 years ago.
And dealing with uni.
PHEW that felt good to get out. I'm going to visit Medicare today, and bank a big cheque, and look at memento books, and have a meal with a friend, and get out of the house.