As I sit here pondering the last 28 years and 357 days of my life as another birthday looms, I have just caught sight of myself… I am going to take you on a visual journey here and it currently isn’t the most pleasant but as always it’s amusing…
My hair is a gravity defying, product repelling, touselled mane at the best of times (like just having been washed, conditioned and blow dryed by a stylist after a trip to the hairdressers) so having seen this in the mirror, I realised that in my ever hectic, organicallly evolving, diary resistant schedule, I haven’t actually found time to visit my doyenne of the blades, since March. Seeing as my hair grows unfeasibly rapidly, I am currently sporting something which looks like the mutant offspring of an eagle’s nest and a Portugese Man o’War… amusing enough in itself, no?
Ok then, not funny enough? Add to it then, the humour factor of a little green static face, referring of course to the clay face pack I am wearing, which as it dries renders ones face in a botox like rictus, that cracks unpleasantly when moved, (NB for those not accustomed to these grim rejuvenating practices it is surprisingly hard to not move your face), the glee of my OH is almost unparalled as he is taking full advantage of my inert visage.
I began considering best practice for personal defoliation (my affectionate term for removal of stray/unwanted hair, EG eyebrows) but in all honesty with the late and sleepless nights induced by ‘psycho’ (see previous blog) I have decided against. The marathon onslaught of attacking each of my rather long legs with one of a number of painful/tricky/time-consuming hair removal options, has left me exhausted just thinking about it, oh the joys of being a female bi-ped eh? It’s desperation which induces me to indulge in these, at times medieval, beautifying practices, it is an art in itself honestly! I shall be back as my face is now as taught as I can bear and my OH is deliberately making me laugh which is unbearable…
Back now… chuckling to myself as the bathroom looked a bit like a sluice in a quarry for a moment.
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
This bit is specifically aimed at ladies, as some boys (and some gals) tend to be a bit squeamish (quiet) about ladies stuff… You have been warned in the nicest way possible :o)
Having suffered what I would romantically describe as ‘mercurial’ BG’s for the last two weeks, which I feel now should mostly be attributed to ‘laydee hormones’, but some periodic stress surges.
Having managed to get to sleep quite early (‘psycho and cohorts’ have clearly exhausted themselves for the time being as it was all quiet on the eastern front last night, madly touching wood). I only woke up a couple of times (residual anxiety me thinks), I was moderately pleased to find this morning, my BG was 7.2 mmol!!
No wait this is great (For the BG Police, I am still fine tuning my basals and wrangling the carbs and bolus’). Better still it has remained pretty darned even, ALL day (bar the pilot error after dinner, and not bolusing enough, my bad slaps wrist quickly caught and sucessfully stomped on). I was a bit at a loss having reverted for 2 weeks to results that looked like a liar on a polygraph machine, then at lunch I got the ‘inkling’ I was about to receive an unwelcome visitor.
And LO she arrived.
So after the fourth ‘cycle’ (this I have discovered is an idiots term for ‘laydee business’, because cycle would infer that there is something regular about them, soooo not the case!!) of ‘laydee business’ after beginning pump therapy, I am pretty convinced, no, I’m damn sure that something, i personally suspect the hormone pixie, is tampering with my generally improving BG’s for up to 2 1/2 weeks before D-day… Ach if only I knew when her ladyship could be expected I could prepare, but hey it’s another ball to juggle, right?
Which brings me full circle, sort of, as if it’s not insult to injury that a couple of people have added plus one year to my actual age, plunging me into my thirties a year before I need to go there, thus the frantic facial regimen and general non-surgical-age-rewinding-dark-circle-disguising-up-lifting-lovehandle-smoothing-cellulite-busting-skin-refirming-lip-plumping shenannigans. My nemesis getting me again just before I turn 29 was a particularly bitter, below the belt blow, in more ways than one. Let me illuminate, I have wanted a huge family, like forever. A couple of insensitive comments, which are usually water of a duck’s back to me, vis-avis my lack of children, have compounded my increasing desire to whack people hard (again I am blaming that horrid little hormone pixie and the Birthday fairy equally for this one).
Comments recently, from people who’s ‘friendship’ I am beginning to question, have included ‘oh you were such a little mother at school i thought you’d have 8 by now’ and ‘wow you’re leaving it late’ to ‘You’re so lucky’ (WTF think people) and ‘…maybe you weren’t meant to, well you know…’ Ach dumb asses. The best was… you have to try and imagine the actions acompanying the question ‘Is it because you’re… YOU know?(whispers, raised eyebrows wide-eyes, nodding madly in the general direction of my pump, with chin tucked in and head furtively tilted), I gotta say my response was quite blunt, ’ well No not really, it’s because I am as barren as the hottest bit of the Sahara desert, and yes maybe a bit because I can’t have any treatments til my A1c is within government recommended range’.
Ooooh Harsh I hear you cry, but I’ll bet at one time or another you’ve said or thought something mean to a dumb Q from someone who ought to know better. There really is Nothing quite like being a little bit mean to someone who should know better really, is there? He he heee Naughty I know but terribly satisfying.
NB Please before anyone posts me a negative comment, that isn’t tongue in cheek, on this, don’t, pleeeeease just don’t, read and never trouble yourself with my wafflings again. I am not a bully, I am nearly always kind, sensitive and careful in my responses to all and sundry, t’was a humourous one off PMT moment which I did apologise for and I might just cry if you do.
Hope this one’s made up for the rant fest the other day. You just gotta laugh or it’ll swallow you whole ;o) TTFN