Well, That Went Well

Ok, I’m not the sort of person who often speaks her mind in front of people.  I don’t like upsetting people, or offending them.  I guess that’s why I’ve always kept a diary, so that I can write everything down so that I avoid saying it.  But unfortunately that didn’t prevent me snapping a little over a week ago when The Child was with The Ex. 

We met up with Matriarch, and as per usual went to a cafe for a cuppa.  I should have held my tongue, but stress and other stuff got the better of me.  The Ex was busy buying drinks so kind of missed the row (if you could really call it that).  It was a somewhat surreal moment though.  It kind of started with me moaning on about how The Ex’s family made no effort to see The Child, to which Matriarch responded by saying she’d sever all ties with her if that’s what I wanted.  From where I was sitting it didn’t really make sense after what I had said.  I thought I’d been saying that I wanted them to make more of an effort to see her, but never mind.  I like to think I clarified that point in response to her bizarre offer.  I also mentioned how they’d made no attempt to get in touch with me and The Child directly, despite giving them all my phone number, to which Matriarch responded by saying she’d called us loads.  Not on my phone she hadn’t.  I guess I know where The Ex gets his bizarre habit of telling blatant, not remotely convincing lies from.  Hmm. 

I could get into a huge I said, she said thing here, and I probably shouldn’t.  Needless to say I feel ashamed for acting the way I did, and confused by her bizarre responses.  I also now dread seeing any of The Ex’s family again.  Joyous.  How do I get myself into these situations?  I am such an idiot.  Oh dear.  Maybe one day I’ll learn.  Don’t be friendly postmen, and don’t pick fights with The Ex’s family.  Two lessons I have learned this past year.  Hopefully future lessons will be learned before I make a complete berk of myself.  Hmm.  Unfortunately I doubt I’ll be so lucky.  I have way too many cringe inducing memories, courtesy of being so socially awkward.  I try to laugh though, as I'd rather not do the crying thing.  I don’t like crying.  A red puffed up face is not a good look after all, and now I have a bit of self respect, or vanity or whatever, I do kind of care about that I suppose. 

Looking on the bright side however, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting The Child back for any of the embarrassment she has caused me over the past four years.  She’ll be cringing on my behalf in no time.  Hehe.

Interesting Times Ahead

Ok, The Child still hasn’t settled upstairs.  It’s nearly ten o clock.  I’m not amused.  Though a short while ago when she called me back up to put her cd back on she told me that when she’s bigger she’s going to have a baby and call it Daisy.  That is some planning.  She’s only four.  I didn’t dare enquire about fathers.  But then again, I’m not entirely sure what her thoughts are about families.  At least she’s not started on the awkward questions yet.  Might not be far off now though.  Joyous.

I really must go for a first run/jog/brisk walk tomorrow.  I sort of overdid the pancakes tonight.  Four for my tea (The Child had three), and then two more as a snack later.  I cheated though.  I bought the ones you just heat up in the microwave from Sainsbury’s.  They were nice though.  And The Child wasn’t entirely deprived.  She witnessed the proper way to do pancakes earlier at nursery.  But no more for another year.  Back to normal boring tea tomorrow.  Might have to do something light and healthy.  Hmm.

Running

Ok, proof that I am far from sane, I have decided to take up running.  I know to start off slow at first, taking it easy with a bit of light jogging and stuff, but still.  I have a feeling that I shall still end up a sweaty, red faced mess however easy I take it at first.  Really, you should see me attempting to haul myself up the hill to get home.  It’s far from attractive.  As is my running technique actually.  I’m all flailing limbs.  It’s so undignified.  And so why would I willingly put myself through such torture?  I have heard that it’s good exercise for overall body toning, and it would help me get fitter in general I think.  I really need to get fit.  I’ve yet to shift the spare tyre that developed courtesy of all the mince pies at Christmas.  Though that’s possibly because I’ve yet to drop the excessive quantities of lard from my diet.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m generally happy with my body, but the problem is my tummy, and the love handles.  I’m sick of fat spilling over the top of my jeans no matter what size I wear.  I don’t want to be a stick, and I would love to keep what little curves I have, I just don’t want the tummy bulge.  It’s wobbly and grim.  So running it is then.  Wish me luck.

Of course, it is an excuse to do a bit of shopping too, for I shall need a tracksuit.  Joy.  I’m actually quite excited, but that’s probably because I do bugger all else.  It’ll kill the odd afternoon anyway.

Sulks and Strops

I am totally dreading the teenage years.  The Child can sulk for Britain right now, and she also frequently throws mammoth strops.  If she can drive me this mad now, how bad will she be when she’s in her teens?  I suppose it’s payback for being so awful myself, but still.  I can hope she will improve, and maybe not be so stroppy later on, but unfortunately I’m a bit of a cynic.  Worst case scenario is already imprinted in my brain.  I can only hope it doesn’t become a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

I have an awful feeling that I’m doomed.