Fridays are somewhat of a luxury for me, in that when miss Immyjim goes down for her nap I get the chance to have some time and space to myself. And the washing.  And the dishes.  And the niggling sense that I should be doing more household chores in general.

This Friday has been lazier than usual, as our usual post preschool reading group and grocery shopping has been abandoned for the the day after I had one of those early morning WWM11 moments upon finding my littlest miss in a cold spew covered cot.

(In my defence she had grizzled once in her sleep for less than the minute it took me to wake up and head down the hall to her room to investigate.  As all had gone silent I went back to bed, assuming it had been a bad dream).

Then I had to face miss A’s disappointment at Mummy not coming into the classroom, expressed in her usual hostile I will speak rudely to you until you snap style. Which will be followed later with a perfectly worded note of apology*

On a brighter note, miss E was thrilled to head off to preschool, self dressed proudly in a style her teacher aptly coined as “Scottish with bling”.

Anyway. Where was I?

With my slightly off colour but eternally cheerful bonus baby still slumbering peacefully after a self determined early nap time- offers of food and boob met with a determined “Na!” accompanied by a shake of the head, then a toddle to her room, finger pointed at cot and a “Nigh-nigh’s!” (got to love a fourteen and a half month old who can so clearly communicate what she wants)- here I am, tapping away on the keyboard.

Can you even follow my scattered non train of thought?

I realise my last post was a sensitive topic, and I hope that I worded it appropriately so as not to unduly offend anyone.  As an update on this issue…I did speak to my friend about not wanting visits for a little while and she has been fantastic and understanding.  The situation has reached crisis point after her daughter attempted to push another student in front of a bus and so there has been medical and behavioural intervention put in place which of course is going to take time.

It is a heartbreaking situation, and I hope that the child in question gets the assistance that she needs.  In the meantime I am relieved that my reaction was the appropriate one….

…is it terrible to admit to being relieved that it was not miss A that was pushed in front of the bus when a year or two earlier she was the focus of her friend’s fixations?  (Guilty as charged).

All of that was my long winded way of getting around to the original topic of this post, which was to ‘fess up to having had a rough time when it comes to female friendships of late.

Those of you who put up with me on Facebook might be aware of my reference to passive aggressive behaviour.  What I was talking about was having to consistently dodge barbs from many mother friends of late.  My crime?  Being a by no means perfect parent who has managed to produce three bright and mostly kidlets with no significant and/or ongoing issues beyond the usual childhood concerns thus far.

Apparently being quiet, listening to the concerns of your friends and trying to offer support in the form of sympathy rather than assvice is a crime.  Being asked how your kids are going, saying “Fine for now *touch wood*” and then when pressed for specific details carefully and somewhat reluctantly admitting that I has adjusted to daycare, E is possibly going to school next year and A is in the highly capable student group makes me a stuck up cow. And apparently I have real  nerve for dealing as I go with getting three kidlets to care and the two hour each way commute to work.  A job that is demanding but interesting.   That I am trying to get fit to cope with it all by committing to a regular gym program.  BITCH!

Far out.  And they wonder why I don’t actually volunteer information often.  I’m aware that I am incredibly lucky. I’m aware that this is a mostly good patch that could change any second (didn’t mention that I am still woken up every night by two out of three kidlets now did I?).  I make no claims that any of this is due to my parenting, although I hope it does show a little bit that I am not as bad as I often think I am.

Why do women always seem to think it is always about them?  That somehow someone else’s unrelated fortunes or misfortunes are inextricably bound up with their own?  Why are my male friends not like this (thank dog)?

I think I am long overdue for a catch up with the select group of ladies I have affectionately and wryly dubbed the Faulco foxies.  Honest, strong and funny women who tell it like it is to your face and not your back.

I wish I could be in real life contact with those of you inside the computer who are like exactly like that.

And now the ramble must come to an end. I hope I didn’t come across as a smug prat. Sorry about that.

* Have to take a photo but it said “Dear Mum, I am sorry I was being Silly. Love A x”   And yes I have cried. More than once and for many reasons.

We were less than half an hour into festivities yesterday when I went to round up the children for a party game (side note:  since when did kids get so bolshie as to backchat and refuse to follow directions from their friend’s mother?).

Just as the last girl had gathered in the group and I was saying let’s go and play pass the parcel…one of the girls suddenly viciously slapped me in the stomach.  Without warning. Without provocation. And hard enough that a red mark was still evident on my skin half an hour later.  The kids initially giggled nervously but then quickly saw that a) It had hurt and b) I was not happy.

In a shocked but very tightly controlled voice I told the child her behaviour was unacceptable and to go straight back into her mother.  A good friend of mine who had stayed for the party where the others had done the drop and run.

Said child was promptly removed from the party without fanfare.

I’m gobsmacked.  There had been no warning, no provocation, nothing. It had been a lighthearted call to organise some very excited little girls into a party game after they had let off some physical steam outside.

And now I have a dilemma.   While I feel sorry for the little girl in question-she has had a tentative diagnosis of ODD and ADHD- I have reached the end of my tether with her.  Over the six years we have known her she has been physically, emotionally and mentally aggressive to miss A and was for a long time one of the key triggers for anxious and shy behaviour from my biggest girl.

For years I have done my best to be accomodating, on one hand trying to reassurre my own daughter while all the while taking into account her little friend’s need for patience and understanding.  So many other parents and friends have abandoned or at best avoided her.

My friend is taking her daughter back to her specialist ASAP as the aggressive behaviour is becoming more randomly directed and increasing in frequency.  It is clear that she needs help.

However for me it is time for me to draw the line. Unacceptable behaviour is exactly that, and all other issues aside she most certainly knows that lashing out is not appropriate.  After six years I can’t take it any more. And my children need to see that I will protect them, that I won’t tolerate what I would never accept from them.

I have made a tough decision.  This child is no longer welcome in my house for a good while  and I will have to actually say this to her mother rather than stage the wordless retreat.  I need space, my kids need space, we all need some respite from the volatility while professional help is sought.

So why do I feel so bad about it?

Instead, the husband decided to get out of Christmas lunch with the inlaws and opening/assembling any further craptastic plastic toys by developing pancreatitis and, rather scarily, drivibg himself to the hospital at 7am.  Leaving a certain heavily pregnant wife to deal with Santa present opening, car packing, getting the troops ready and doing the hour long drive to my parents’ place solo.  No mean feat.

I do not apologise for the fact that my children had chocolate and lollies for breakfast, nor for the fact that getting out of the house necessitated a lot of screaming and some tears on my part.

Anyway.

Long story short, mr hissychick’s gallbladder was found to be the cause of the pancreatitis (much, much less scary than the other possible causes), the kids survived and enjoyed Christmas Day blah blah blah fishpaste.

The husband was discharged yesterday morning after a three night stay….and his gallbladder removal surgery scheduled for next Tuesday.  The day before my due date.

Fast forward to today.  I woke at 5:50 am this morning after another totally relaxing late pregnancy night’s sleep (think waking three times between 10 pm and 12 am to go to the toilet, 1 am with night sweats, and everytime I needed to pee or roll over thereafter) and I felt….like I had dropped my bundle.

After a shower and managiing to nick my pink bits when I stupidly decided to give the ladygarden a tidy up sight unseen I sat on the edge of my bed and cried with exhaustion and frustration.  Perhaps it’s was the last of the adrenaline of the last few days leaving my body…but I don’t think it’s that.

Yes people, I’ve reached that point where abject fear of childbirth is outweighed by the desire to feel semi human again.

And it seems Bertramina is sympathetic to my cause.  OB checkup this morning revealed she is well engaged and good to go, with the lovely and calm Dr J reassuring me all was well and that he would be seeing me before the husband’s little surgical jaunt.

My feeling is soon, very soon. 

So on that note I am off to eat fresh pineapple and watch as many episodes of Mad Men as I can.

Until next time….smooches.  Scared smooches.

Well it’s only partly that.

I have been dealing with ‘just a virus’ for over a week right now, a dreadful snotty lurgy that has tortured my throat and nose and general will to live, before deciding to settle in my right ear this morning, from which I have not yet regained my hearing.

Oh the pressure as the train ascends the mountain, the freaking pressure.  And no suitable decongestant drugs to be had thanks to the first trimester/breastfeeding combo that leaves you with something as useless as your immune system to deal with it all.

But there’s no more time for sooking and fondly remembering the golden days of pregnancy, when you could actually lie around and do stuff all.  Although thanks to the darling man that is mr hissychick I have been doing as much of that as I can.

I digress.

You see my two darlings have pulled a two for one get out of jail daycare pass on me.  This morning I received a phone call at work to inform me that E has severe conjunctivitis in both eyes, and while we’re at it, A has hurt her mouth and you might want to get the still bleeding area and wobbly tooth checked out.

Mr hissychick valiantly escaped the office to collect the kids.

Of course the earliest doctors appointment we could get is tomorrow  (and not one for myself, around our way you have to give the medical establishment two weeks notice that you might be sick ).  Somehow through the magic that is my husband this does not clash with the afternoon with the pediatric  dentist gig.  So our day off will be a fun one of juggling engagements a mere 50 km away from each other, thankfully with a visit to Nana to offload the gunky eyed one and new batch of germs collected at the doctor’s office in between.

Despite all of the shenaningans one thought keeps running through my mind: Could it really be true that this time next year I’ll be juggling a third kidlet and their issewes as well?

God I hope so.

And wasn’t she just beside herself with excitement over finally getting her big girl noodles.

Fearing hysterical tears in the face of the reality of the situation I gently suggested that it was going to hurt for a little bit but that if she was brave she would enjoy a box of Smarties as a treat afterwards.

Armed with that enticement, in we went to see the nurse at the clinic. And….

Not a single tear. Not one. No struggles, no tensed up arms, no widening of the eyes, nada, zip zilch.

I was so proud, as I can actually remember my four year old booster shot, and I cried like a baby. Then again times have moved on and you no longer get the numb arm from  the tetanus shot that we all remember. Still, for once I can safely say that A did not act just like her mother.

Then again, maybe not. Upon coming home my big miss has milked it for all it is worth, telling all and sundry about how her arms hurt “ow ow ow!!” and demanding paracetamol. To be fair she might be feeling a little uncomfortable but she most certainly is following the exact script the nurse gave us about side effects, which she’d naturally listened to in rapt attention as she does when it comes to anything and everything medical (becoming a doctor being her current lifelong ambition).

E was less than impressed.  As A tried to tell her little sister about her arm pain my cheeky little monkey started exclaiming “Ebie sore arm too!” and when told “No, you didn’t get noodles, you’re not sore” merely sighed, exclaimed “Move” (as is her wont nowadays) while shoving past her sister to resume playing, happily singing “Merrily merrily merrily dream!” to the tune of “Row row row your boat” as A started wailing to me that “E hitted me in my sore arm Mummy!”.

One sensitive soul, one future firestarter. Sibling rivarly at its finest.

Anyway it is my turn for a needle next week. In light of the current whooping cough epidemic and tragic death of a four week old mr hissychick and I are getting booster shots so that we can do our bit to protect babies in our community  who are too young to get immunised themselves.  Something I wish the poor misguided souls in the anti vaccination camp would have a good hard think about.  But for once I will grit my teeth and not go there.

Wonder if I’ll get a sticker and a lolly for being brave too?

* And rightly so, given that too many people have been too lax to follow the schedule through to completion.  In my defense I wasn’t expecting to be read the riot act a mere four weeks after A’s birthday, having been told previously that the aim was to have your child vaccinated prior to commencing school.  But as someone who is completely pro vaccination…oh the shame…