Having had a little time to reflect on the events of Saturday (and your comments, thank you) i’ve come to the conclusion that its not that The Boy wants children right now but that he finds me acceptable/suitable to have children with. This of course is rather flattering, and actually even better than someone saying they love you…. “I could see myself making a whole new person with you”…thats pretty darn special, right?
However, I’m not sure where he’s got this idea of ‘me’ from, why I could possibly make a suitable mother of his children. It is certainly never crossed my mind that id be a suitable mum. For a start…I think you have to be a mothering type, don’t you? I am not, definitely not, the mothering type:
The evidence…
1. I can’t look after myself, let alone another person. Dinner for the last three nights has consisted of 1) a beef and tomato Pot Noodle, 2) toast with beef spread and 3) one of those Philadelphia handy snack pots with breadsticks. Oh and an Easter egg, a Cadbury’s buttons one. And a bottle of red wine and half a bottle of white. I’m so full of nutritious values and healthy thoughts…Not! (However, I obviously know exactly what teenagers like to eat, and how they write by the looks of things; who uses Not! anymore?)
2. I’m Selfish. I’m not good at sharing my life with anyone and in particular I can be rather anti-social. I’m sure my head will explode if i’m badgered continuously by a small child pulling at my coat tails moaning mum mum mum mum mum mum mum etc etc etc.
3. I’m not very patient. I stop listening very quickly; so in general I am the last person you go to for someone to listen and understand. I am good at giving advice though – generally along the lines of ‘stop bringing things on yourself’. Which wouldn’t be helpful to little minds either.
4. Morals? Lying? Cheating? Leading by example? Yeah right.
5. I’m rubbish at setting limits. I have no limits on myself let alone the ability to set them for someone else. One glass of wine always becomes three; one bottle of wine becomes Jeagerbomb shots, which results in Smidge time for bed. I have no self control. How am I meant to be able to discipline a child for drinking at 14 when I threw up out of my dad’s car window at exactly that age?
Ok, it may be that I am being a little harsh on myself, but I guess that he has seen something I haven’t, something in a future me that makes him broody.
Whatever that is, whether it’s a warmth, an ability to pass on love, to care, to help to nuture, to grow; if he can see it, then it’s there inside me. It’s been there all along, and that makes me happy.
One day, maybe ill see these things for myself….
Kx
Falling in love with a Glaswegian seems to have hastened a slow burning love for his home town. Whilst I can honestly say Glasgow just isn’t as fair and pretty as gentile Edinburgh, every time I travel through on Shit-rail I find myself starting to entertain that it really is ‘smiles better’.
Glasgow is the Agent Provocateur (dirty, naughty, and ready for nights of bad behaviour) to Edinburgh’s Marks & Spencers control pants (you will look fab on the outside, but never be able to let yourself go). I know what I prefer.
Anyway, debating the delights of Scotland’s seedier west coast isn’t the point of this post, but it is necessary for setting the scene, as on Saturday night, whilst in Glasgow, I got a bit of a shock.
It’s a known fact that Taxi drivers the world over like to talk; but arguably the best taxi driver chat in the world belongs to the Glaswegians. (It’s an experience not to be missed). Anyways, in the back of one such taxi on the way to the see Lily Allen on Saturday night, whilst the Boy and the driver were discussing the merits of the lovely Lily (complete with rude hand movements) I bemoaned the fact that I didn’t know half the bands on his radio anymore.
This, according to the driver was because I didn’t have any children; that children keep you young, fresh and hip with the music of today (although he did admit that he knew all the words to the Singing Kettle, and that their lyrics tended to be better than the recent load of drivel in the charts). And then, out of the mouth of my gorgeous (but laddish) toyboy came the immortal words, the kind of words that once said cant be taken back, the kind that makes you start to channel Natasha Beddingfield songs.
“we’ve been debating this”
He wasn’t talking about the Singing Kettle.
The taxi driver winked wryly at him in the mirror, started to joke about “oh women what are they like” only to be put straight that it was me that needed to be persuaded, not him. At this point my head went into such a spin I almost fell off the seat.
I’m still not sure i heard it right, and i’ve not dared to talk about it since. But what the hell the butterflies i’ve been having ever since mean… i don’t know.
Kx
right here right now
Tonight we gonna, just let it do what it do, I can flip this pretty young thing on you
….yep… right about now …. it’s been exactly a month… here I go again…
I don’t know why I haven’t noticed before, but it seems that as the full moon comes around (and the other girly stuff I wont mention) I get all introspective and self critical and want to write things like “It might be weird to say, but I don’t actually often like my blog”.
So I am resisting the urge to be needy and writing yet another introspective ‘woe is me’ type post or even the ‘I’m-not-on-the-verge-of-suicide, I-promise, and-my-life-really-isn’t-as-bad-as-I-make-out’ type post perfect for hormonal days.
So instead, today is a day for firsts; for something new in my life… (No i’m not pregnant or turning into a sex blogger, although that would be fun, the sex bit, not the baby). Today I shall make my first mention of… THE GYM.
But I shall level with you.
I don’t think I actually need to go to the gym. (Although that’s just like saying I don’t think I need to give up smoking when I clearly do).
I’m not fat; I’m the kind of girl who has never been involved in a girly moaning session about weighty issues. I have a BMI of 22.2 for god’s sake – i’m healthy, a bit curvy with tits and ass and a bit of squidgy around the tummy that’s slowly getting worse as I get older. But i’m no longer 18; things aren’t going to stay this way forever. And i’m noticing it; and I don’t like it. Its time to get real – i’m 30, my metabolism is slowing, the effects of alcohol no longer disappears with my hangover, but hangs around on my hips.
In fact, what I should really tell you is in the last 3 months I have put on 5kg… that’s 11 pounds, nearly a stone. This can not keep on happening. If it does, in 6 months time I’ll be officially over weight.
So, last month I started on the soup and salad and the healthy eating. No longer do I order a curry every Monday night and a Chinese every Saturday. Every meal comes with some kind of salad. Even my dressing is low fat (and horrible). I have yet to resort to buying red milk (i’m a blue milk girl), I still eat crisps, but I now only eat one Tunnocks Wafer a night rather than two (I don’t need to lose weight, come on!).
It seems to be working; no further weight has gone on. Yet.
Now we come to the second problem…
I have a toyboy; he is 26 and skinny and rather gorgeous to look at. And he puts me to shame in the fitness stakes. And I want to compete. I want him to see happy me, healthy me, sexy me (not that i’m not sexy right now, cos I am, i’m not missing out here), I want more energy, I want to sleep better. I want all the things that a healthy lifestyle gives me.
I just hate the idea of it.
I’m a bad, smoking, drinking, partying kind of chick; not an eco, airy fairy hippy yummy soon to be mummy gym bunny with designer wear up my ass crack. Why can’t i be 18 again?
Grrr.
Kx
P.s i start at the gym tonight.
If you remember a while back I did a 10 commandments for my boy post. They seemed to go down well with you lot (not so well with him, he wasn’t that happy) so, I’ve decided to do another one, this time my own 10, for me, which I shall honestly try to stick to…
(That’s ‘honestly’. Not ‘all the time’.)
1) I shalt remember not to value a person who does not value me; ‘friend dates’ should be a regular thing, not seeing each other/contacting each other for weeks on end does not a friendship make. Nor shalt I be the one doing all the chasing; friendship is a reciprocal arrangement. (As is buying rounds at the bar, there is no room in my life for cheapskates…)
2) I shalt remember that helping other people helps me; especially listening and learning to see from the other perspective – assuming is stifling. I shalt also remember that although everyone thinks they are right, no one is omnipresent. I don’t actually have to listen to you, or take your advice (and i can slap you for “i told you so” type comments)
3) I shalt not think that life will be better in the future. I have to live now. However, having walked away from my life twice already, there is no need to do it a third time. I shalt keep reminding myself that life is good right now. (and that sex is free if all else fails)
4) I shalt remember that having guts always works out for me and that being brave always gets me through difficult periods in my life. Challenging myself is a good thing and makes life exciting. Whether this is travelling alone or presenting to 50 people, its never as scary as I think it will be. (Unless i find myself naked in front of an audience, like i did in my dreams last night)
5) I shalt remember that actually doing the things I set out to do increases my satisfaction in life. Whilst failure is something I have accepted, it doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t push myself to achieve things that I believe to be out of my reach. I can’t not do anything. (well, apart from singing, snowboarding, keep my nails filed neatly, face sex in the morning, stop smoking…)
6) I shalt remember that being untruthful always works against me. I’ve learnt this the hard way. Karma is real and always comes back to bite you on the ass. (if i lie to you i promise you can come bite me on the ass…)
7)I shalt remember that money does not make me happy and that material luxuries are best enjoyed in small doses. I shalt not be jealous of those with more than me as even though they may more, I am happy, they might not be. (although i’d be happy if i could spend 3 weeks a year in the Maldives…)
I shalt remember that trying to look good for other people limits my life. I am me and this is how I look, people should like me for who I am, not what they think I should dress like. (although showering is a good idea, as is deoderant and cleaning off the cat hair from my clothes before i leave the house)
9) I shalt remember that worrying solves nothing and complaining is silly. I shall either act or forget. (and then bitch about it afterwards, just for a little while)
10) I shalt remember that low expectations are a good strategy, you can always build on what you have learnt, achieve more and never be disappointed in anyone when they don’t reach my high expectations. (the only way is up, baby, for me and you know… im still dancing to yazz 10 years on)
What are your ten personal commandments?
Kx