|Back in the day when Millie didn't move.|
Lucy's expression still somewhat says it all though.
Lucy is a... special sort. The kind with severe anxiety 'I Take Cat Prozac Everyday' sort. Which in itself is a FFS.
She went from ignoring me when I came home with Millie to hanging around, to not hanging around and is now making friends with Millie. Sort of. She spends a lot of time wanting Millie to pat her, then not wanting Millie to pat her. FFS.
I know there's some boundary issues going on, but I think I expected the 6 year old to be the Bigger Person and walk away when she's had enough. Not look even more pissy and wave her paw at the baby. FFS.
Millie now sleeps through the night (whispers oh god maybe I shouldn't say it out loud). OH MY GOD IT'S GLORIOUS. However I am still grumpy and sleep deprived because Lucy has stopped sleeping through the night and commences a 2am dance party on my bedside table, Mr S' bedside table, under the bed. FFS.
Yes, I hear you, the logical solution would be to lock Lucy out of the bedroom. However, she's a vindictive sort and would probably wee or poo in the bathtub or try and get in to bed with Millie. Millie would be delighted by this turn of events I suspect. FFS.
Yes, that's correct, I'm scared of my cat's actions lest I ignore her. FFS.
This week has been hard on the internet front. I'm saddened by my parenthood post and how the majority of people have been supportive, I feel like I've thrown a wedge between a few friendships. FFS.
That said, I still stand by every word I said.
The Bogan Neighbours (yes, I will still refer to them as that Daddy D) have been wearing on our nerves again. Their bad tempered Staffy was barking and growling in our yard at 10pm last night. They clearly knew the dog was out because after Mr S hollered out the window at the dog to scare it into leaving we heard the BN's call for the dog and let it back in the yard. Are you effing kidding me? There's also a highway between our houses. What sort of dog owners are they? We've complained to the council, we've told the landlords, we've told the BN's. What else can we do? FFS.
My pinking shears have not turned up from America yet. FFS.
I have learned not to sew in hot weather. I get too hot and angry and make stupid mistakes. FFS.
I just tried to make bias tape and it was an epic fail. I even read the instructions for a whole week before I tried it. Hmmm. FFS.
In a fit of vanity I caught sight of my regrowth in a public toilet mirror. I ran out to Mr S saying 'TELL ME. DO I HAVE GREY HAIRS NOW?'
He of the salt and pepper hair says 'A better question... do I have any grey hairs? But seriously, I can't see any. I'm sure they're there though. You're almost 30.'
Someone just left a message on my Facebook wall saying 'It's 1.30pm and I am aching for my FFS hit. COME ON WOMAN'. Okay, that wasn't precisely what she said, but I heard her judgement all the way from Brisbane. You can't hurry the genius okay?
I think Shiny Things have to happen tomorrow. You can't hurry the genius.
Go and see Sarah over at Dear Baby G and say 'Hi. Amy said you were also a genius.'