Mecca of Misery

The Toddler is trying to exterminate me, again.  I have never had a child to go such prolonged bouts of teething.  It feels like we've took one step forward and then three steps back with bedtime taking a small forever and multiple night wakings, feeding all night.  Exhausted would be an understatement.  If he really has his heart set on making me cry he really ought to just poke me in the eye and be done with it, much less time consuming.

The days and consequently weeks appear to be on fast forward,  I feel like time is mere sand slipping through my open fingers.  It seems like only yesterday when it was September and now half way through November that frightful panic is bubbling below the surface as I trip over thoughts of Christmas Shopping, again.  I had finally got some sort of an incomplete list of 'to-buy' for The Spawn ready only to find that typically two of the main gifts are inevitably out of stock, which is bloody awkward.  The Husband keeps bemoaning that he doesn't want any gifts (although he's not shy of posting links on my facebook of things he rather likes) I have ordered three things for him and bought another.  We had a somewhat disastrous trip to the dreaded Primark yesterday avec Le Petite Filous (No not a yogurt you weirdos, it means Little Rascal aka The Toddler)  Bare in mind that Primark is a mecca of misery at the best of times for anti-social people-loathing people such as myself and The Husband but needs must and all that jazz.  The Toddler has realised that if he declares he needs a wee, he get's an exit pass from the sling/buggy.  However, the cheeky little bugger then refused to have an actual wee and proceeded to quite literally run The Husband (to whome patience is not a virtue) ragged, uncharacteristically refusing to hold his hand and making a rather impressive bid for freedom.  Cue my browsing cut short (just when I was contemplating a Borat Mankini and fold away portable pint glass for The Husband, shame) as I joined the queue of doom to the cacophonous of The Toddler wailing his wee heart out, twang...snap...there goes some more of my heart strings.  Gulp.

So laden with the rather impractical paper bag of Primarni goodness whilst praying to the gods it doesn't rain and thus melt the bag, although it will probably rip long before then anyway, we made a short sharp exit.  I eventually calmed The Toddler down and back in the sling on my back he went.  To say nerves were frazzled would be somewhat of an understatement to say the least.  The Husband was most furious, his bad mood hovering above us like a little black raincloud because obviously it was all my fault  (sorry Husband, sorry god) as is everything (world poverty, nach.  Disease and famine? yup.  Death? sorry, that was me too) so homeward bound we went.  I was hoping to walk home just as we'd walked there (approximately 2.5 miles each way) yet with each furthering step my wibbly ankles protested more and more until I had to admit defeat and stop at the bus stop.  Typically the 'frequent' buses become infrequent the instant we decide to wait for one (I must have lied when I was seventeen. Or something)  Still at least catching the bus avoided passing the park again which we let the toddler run rampant round en route to town that morning.  I perched upon the edge of a seat next to an old woman to many coo's and ahh's at the angelic little dude on my back which only intensified when the little bugger fell asleep.

Finally home with a sleeping toddler who I had to resettle in bed (I rather needed my own nap to recover from the abysmal day) I have socks, I have layering tops, I even have a nifty drumstick flavoured chap stick (I kissed a girl and i liked it...) yet apart from a pair of Superman Socks for The Husband, my Christmas shopping list is still alarmingly long (and disastrously incomplete).  Bother.

We tend to get mere token gifts for The Adults in the family and concentrate on The Children.  Scratchcards have already been done so i'm torn between Monopoly money inside a card or perhaps the slightly quirkier idea of poker chips like these maybe? yet in typical MamaUndone fashion I go off on a tangent and get all dreadfully distracted upon seeing this, which I know Thing One would be positively mesmorised by.  See? It's impossible to do any kind of Christmas Shopping without finding yet another thing one of The Spawn would like.

I'm now going to whale about in the bath for a while, whaling being the important word here seeing as i've piled on even more weight and my jeans are now uncomfortably tight, so to commiserate the fact I of course have had to self medicate with chocolate for breakfast (again)  The Idea was to be a size smaller by Christmas, not a size bigger.  Arse.  Big arse even, literally.

I need to fortify myself for yet another attempt at Christmas Shopping next week.

...Whilst sulking because I really really really want to see the new Twilight film.  Shut up.  I know.