Today I experienced a Woman vs Woman moment. You know those heart warming occasions when you can feel yourself being judged by the species that should have your back better than anyone. Another woman. So very possibly, another Mother. And very likely menstrual once a month.
Possibly always based on this woman’s face.
It’s Day 2 of the flowing red river of hate.
(For those who’ve only recently climbed aboard the Mothership, this is how I refer to the 3-6 days a month I spend while my insides rip themselves apart & escape through my portal of womanhood & I daydream about how much easier my life would be if I’d been born with a dick.)
Emotions are running high, low & everywhere in between at this time. There’s a fine line between wanting to kill you, cry on you or cuddle you.
Dangerous territory. Proceed with caution.
This feels so insignificant to me in the big scheme of life.
I don’t understand why the appearance of others, affects some people so much. Surely if I put in no effort & you put in lots, you should thank me. I’m actually doing you a favour. No competition here girlfraaaan!
The Fatherships thongs & his blue jacket. That clearly fits well. Don’t hate me cuz you ain’t me.
My activewear that spends no time being active & is fraying in the ass from spending a lot of time on the couch. Active-less & almost ass-less.
A bright pink scarf that clashes terribly with everything else but fits in nicely with the hormonal pimple party currently in full swing on my chins’. And hair that hasn’t had any love since late May.
I had 2 out of 3 children with me. Master 10 who is sick courtesy of the $40 swimming lessons his school has held in winter. And the threenager whose hair is at the 6 month regrowth stage after being attacked at Christmas time by Edward Scissorhands. Also known as Master 7. It looks so feral unless I dedicate 20 minutes to strategically placing 72 hair clips in it.
Ain’t no one got time for that.
Not me anyway. And certainly not today.
I could feel Judgy McJudgerson eyes on us while I perused the bread aisle. I turned around, we made eye contact & then I did my “don’t fuck with me” squint & she looked away. Yeah you did bitch. I wondered if maybe she thought I was a no hoper that lived her life on illicit drugs based on the hormonal pimple party. Then I remembered I’m fat & instantly felt better. How many fat crackheads do you know?
Exactly. It couldn’t be that..
Then I wondered if maybe she thinks I look too young to have a son almost taller than me. As a younger Mother that is a stigma I’m used to. 0 fucks.
Then I wondered if maybe she’s just a cunt.
She doesn’t know that I am doing my best to keep my head above water while my better half works away for 2 weeks at a time & I play 3 against 1 with our children with very minimal outside support.
She doesn’t know I just stuck my finger up at the asshole who stole the last “parent park” & then walked off without a child in tow. While I parked 6 lanes away. Not a first world problem, unless you have a threenager that hates shoes. And walking. And a son who feels so sick that he looks like he needs an iron transfusion & bowl of broccoli.
She doesn’t know that I just scraped the threenager off the ground after a tantrum because I wouldn’t let her get naked in the supermarket.
She doesn’t know that I spent all of last night up & down with Master 10 who coughed from dusk until dawn.
Chinese torture anyone?
She doesn’t know my dryer blew up at 7.05am this morning & I spent 50 minutes drying my children’s clothes with my shitty, cheap, 3 bar heater. A fart would give out more heat than that does. And I had to chuck on whatever was clean.
She doesn’t know that when I called the boys school this morning to let them know Master 10 was ill. They told me we owed money for a Where’s Wally book that he still hadn’t returned. I fiercely protested this. And then I drove out of the driveway & noticed a big, red book on the front side of our roof.
I’d found Wally.
She doesn’t know I’m tired. So fucking tired.
She doesn’t know that I’m praying I had enough money on my card to buy my trolley of groceries. My children’s food.
She doesn’t know that we are going through a rough patch financially & it keeps me awake at night. And if that doesn’t, a child does.
She doesn’t know that I’m trying my best to keep us all happy with a smile on my face.
She doesn’t know fuck all about me. Us. My family.
All she knew is what she saw.
And based on the 3 seconds that we spent in each others lives, she had every right to judge me.
Because that is the shitty world that we live in!