So, raise your hand if you’re not feeling like a psycho today *raises hand*. Don’t I feel like a tad bit of a silly billy goat for getting so emotional over Luca just being a man. Now I’m not saying I wasn’t right in feeling like I deserve more, because I totally do, I have self-worth and a heart and I need to be treated like a princess every once in a while just like any other girl out there.
And I realise that men aren’t wired up the same way as us girls are, they don’t care about doing dishes but they should, especially because I like having baby-soft hands not dry paws! And when I shriek at Luca looking like the exorcist in my gingerbread-onesie with tears in my eyes it’s only because I love him and technology doesn’t yet have a USB to transfer my thoughts directly into his head, through brainwashing or man-grading whatever you want to call it.
And I know for sure that if he came home one day and I’d not done the housework or looked after the kids or even spoke to him, just sat staring at the TV farting in a tracksuit and picking my nose, than he’d cart me straight off to the funny farm to get me fixed and hire in a personal cook and cleaner to cover my absence in the meantime.
Something has to give, and boy will it give! Now that my eyes are wide open to his lack of home based input I owe it to the proceeding female race, and more importantly my children to ensure that we are both equals. And if that means only washing half of the dishes and leaving the rest dirty, hoovering only half of the downstairs or making him only half a cup of tea, then by jove I’ll do it! Because I’m not his slave and he’s not a nine year old… and that’s so weird I’m glad it’s not the case!
I need to find my inner lioness and let her roar, turn away my shrieking banshee and bulk up my balls ready for the long haul. Men are like something that needs fine tuning… violins or little violas; put in the time and effort and one day they’ll be ready for the orchestra. Well that’s right baby, you’re not getting away with being stored in the loft with the Christmas decorations anymore, I’m getting you out, blowing off the cobwebs and playing with you everyday, so to speak.
And the turning point that made me realise what we have can be saved and nurtured? When we were in the taxi on the way home from our friends Halloween party the other night and I was face down, drunkenly semi-conscious on Luca’s lap, dressed as Spiderman talking about the children to the taxi driver, a little bit of my heart melted to hear the happiness in his voice. So it turns out he does have a heart! Even if he doesn’t use it very often, it’s definitely there! And if I wasn’t so drunk I might have remembered the beautifully poetic words that he said so that I could write them down and read them back to some sad power ballads should I feel so unloved ever again.
In my heart I’d like to think he said to the taxi driver something along the lines of:
To be apart of a family like mine is so divine,
Where love is shown, hurt is shared, our love for each other is never impaired.
We talk, we laugh, we cry, but we are a family and we do it all together,
For as a family we do it all as one,
You hurt one, you hurt all and as a family unit we will all stand tall,
For we are family, a family full of strength, a family full of love, a family no one can touch,
That, is why I love my family so much.
(by Mahfooz Ali)
But in drunken-reality I think it may possibly have been more along the lines of:
“Sorry mate, yeh I know she’s trashed but don’t worry she doesn’t usually throw up, she’s alright like that cus she’s got to babysit the kids when we get home.”
And I guess we’ll never know precisely what he said but it’s left a soppy warm patch on my heart. And that’s why I’m willing to train, and slightly punish Luca into being the ultimate husband one day. One that makes breakfast in bed without being asked, knows what setting to wash a silk shirt on in the washing machine and always chooses the tampons with a built-in applicator – don’t ask! And if a dog can win on Britain’s Got Talent then it goes to show it’s totally possible to teach a man new tricks! I’ll just fill my bra with chicken nibbles as an incentive.
Enough talk of brainwashing, today is weigh-in day and I just haven’t stopped eating at all, even now I’m sat eating sliced cheese from the fridge and had a crunchy bar from the petrol station on the drive home. I know, I’m a greedy greedy piggy and I need to be hit over the head and hypnotised into not loving food, either that or have my jaw wired but I’m concerned I may become tempted to blend chocolate, take-aways and wine altogether.
So, first of all let’s take a look at my gym routine, week eight and I now go just four days a week and do sit-ups and weights from home to save time. I haven’t done as many arm weights as last week simply because I’m looking a bit muscly and my once scrawny sparrow-sticks now look like brutal guns. When I innocently reach inside my purse to fetch my card and pay for my shopping my arm muscles involuntarily flex and I strongly believe the cashier is secretly flinching inside expecting me to pull out an army knife like Sylvester Stallone in line with my muscular capabilities. Most definitely.
But I love working out and try my best to keep up my efforts as much as I can. With it being half-term this week my 7am start for the school run was switched in favour of a trip to the gym before breakfast and after forty minutes of working out my heart was beating in my ears, I was seeing double and in danger of throwing up in my mouth. Never again will I work out at crazy-o’clock before breakfast, lesson learned!
So cutting to the chase my weight has not changed this week. My first thought is relief and my second is that I shouldn’t have gone to MacDonald’s for breakfast even though the onion rings, veggie wrap, chips and orange juice most definitely hit the spot! 🙂
I still can’t feel real stomach muscle building yet but I have made brief initial contact with my hip-bones! Hoorah! And far from ever wanting to be an unhealthy anorexic twig, it would just be nice to be able to sit down again one day without my belly or bum making a desperate bid for freedom over the top of my jeans in public and much to my horror. Ideally if my weight could start with the number 8 I would be ecstatic, even 8st 13lbs would be enough to make me high-five a stranger. But we’ll see.
With Christmas shortly being upon us I decided to go shopping for some winter-wear the other day whilst buying some premature presents and got a pair of leather leggings and a torn jumper, as you do. And trying them on for the first time today I felt torn between a sexy cat-woman or a shrink-wrapped greasy penguin. I wanted to try something new and daring, and I hope that it hit the mark, but it wasn’t to Luca’s taste, as he seems to think I looked more like a dominatrix. I don’t know where my fascination with faux-leather comes from, maybe because I’m vegetarian or that I could have been a cow and/or farmer in a past life? But I just love the look and texture of it and if I could cover my toilet in it I would…!…? Perhaps?
And looking at Gabriele’s sleep routine this past week, well it’s been eventful with him waking up on average four times a night and my eye-bags and dark circles are more than bitter right now but ho hum.
He decided to shout at me in the car today when he was dressed as a little reindeer and I couldn’t help but pull the car over, laugh and coo at him as I fed him a bottle of milk. And he just looked so angelic and beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, my gorgeous little mammal baby.
He’s still not quite crawling but he tries, bless him, and his beautiful blue eyes are starting to turn brown in the centre. He’s so heavy he breaks my elbows holding him and his poopie nappies could seriously rival any grown man, but he is and always will be my chubby little baby boy! x