For Fuck's Sake Friday!

Huzzah! It is Friday, go forth and whine my friends!

Don't mind if I do....

I have missed two (or is it three, I forget) FFS Friday's due to absolute complete screaming exhaustion. FFS.

And no, I didn't get to go to bed early... instead when I wanted to be blogging I was washing clothes, baking for lunches and trying to find my children underneath the mess that was threatening to suffocate me FFS.

On Saturday I decided to quit being a lazy bitch and do some exercise. FFS.

That afternoon, while cutting up one of WonderMan's old tshirts for rags I snipped the webbing in my hand with my fabric shears. FFS.

No-one believes me when I tell them these two things are related. FFS.

I haven't been able to do any more exercise because I couldn't use my hand so now I feel guilty and fat. FFS.
  
WonderMan spent the entire time at the hospital playing on his phone, letting ME take the children to the toilet, and wondering out loud how many stitches I was going to get. FFS.

It mofo hurt. FFS.

I got away without any stitches, but was reduced to doing sweet FA for the entire weekend. FFS.

So it got me out of the housework and the cooking but also meant I couldn't do basic things like read my book and drink my coffee at the same time. FFS.

Everytime I did do one of the few things I could do one handed WonderMan came and told me off as if I was pregnant with the second coming of Christ. FFS.

He wasn't that fussed about me moving furniture and painting entire rooms while I WAS pregnant. FFS.

WonderMan had to change jobs again. That or come home with a black eye because his boss is a bastard bully boy. FFS.

This meant I had to change our budget and add more bills.... now there are red spots in it again. FFS.

I've had two weeks off work and we're leading up to Frog's birthday and the budget already has red bits. FFS.

I can guarantee my magenta ink is going to run out while I'm trying to print Frog's birthday invites, and I don't have the funds to get a new one. FFS.

I didn't think about the fact that moving away meant that when one of the kids had a birthday we would have to have all the parents in our house for a long weekend. FFS.

And that they would be equally generous in their guilt tripping about having to come so far because it seems we are an inconvenience. FFS.

I just want to tell them all to fuck off but I can't because it's my daughter's birthday. FFS.

I started working out a list of daycare friends for Frog to invite and got a lecture from mum about "only having four, and don't spend too much money on .... blah blah blah" as if I was The Bitch and had no freaking idea. I've only hosted twelve kids parties of various styles and sizes before. FFS.

I don't want to have to see my MIL for four whole days. Her passive aggressive disapproval makes me want to cry and stab her alternately. FFS.

I am already feeling stabby and there's still three weeks to go. FFS.

No wait, there's only two. FFS.

WonderMan hasn't put the recycling bin out for six weeks, and it was full four weeks ago. FFS.

My invisible gardener turned up and trimmed my hedges. But not the top of the border hedge because that is a big job that requires an assistant. So my hedge looks like Peter Andre in the nineties. FFS.  

I can't work out if the ducted heating is going to cost more or less than buying wood and I can't afford either. FFS.

Frog is almost three. Which means she has more energy than her little body can hold, and goes at 100mph from eyes open to eyes closed. Super fun and super draining at the same time. FFS.

She is finding new and creative ways to have contrary hysterical tantrums to use up said energy. FFS.

She's also stopped sleeping unless spread out over our entire bed while we hang on to the edge of the mattress and shiver because she is allergic to the doona. FFS.

I've taken to sleeping in her bed through absolute desperation and discovered it's a million times more comfortable than mine, and is too small for WonderMan to share therefor warding off the wandering hands syndrome. FFS.

I'm getting the guilt trip for being too fecking exhausted to put up with the wandering hand. FFS.

My hand still hurts. FFS.

      
RIGHT.

I've had my whine, and a wine or two.

I'm popping over to Dear Baby G to have a laugh at everyone's week, you should too.