Does my bum look big in this?

Kennith is leaving me alone with the kids for much of the weekend.

He is trying to talk me through it, I am trying to take deep breaths and not panic.

For some reason I panic when there is the prospect or even a whiff that I will be left at home with the kids, alone.

I think the reason is that I have had some whopper moments with them in the past – actually more with Connor if I am to be honest.

No doubt my kids will have many hours of their own therapy sessions in the coming years, and have tons of “mommy issues” to discuss.

In the past, I wasn’t “not handling things well” because I was left with them.  I was just not handling things well in general and then I was left with them.

Suffice to say, things went a little/very pear shaped from my side on many occasions.

I have waxed lyrically in this blog about how I did not handle baby number one well.

I was scared sh*tless, and one of my biggest fears was that I was going to be abandoned, and I was going to have to cope by myself.  Babies scared me, I scared me, me with a baby was a terrifying concept.

Baby number one was like a free trip to hell – the problem was that the return trip was not guaranteed.

Unfortunately when I was at my lowest – and my most petrified – Kennith made not the best choices/decision.  The result was that I was left pretty much on my own to cope for a period of about two years – there was anger, resentment, some more anger, and fear of epic proportion.

Kennith is not all guilty, as I had a hand in it as well, we all played our parts.

But the bottom line was that my fear of abandonment was being played out in full technicolour, with me in a reluctant, but starring role.

I was not coping, was suicidally depressed and anxious on a level I can’t describe.  At the time, I did not realise how bad the situation, and how much I was struggling, and also that I was unable to ask for help – all around not a great situation.

Many of the issues we have been dealt with – it took years to fix the fall out.

We realized we both made mistakes, and we have managed to work through them and thus, we are where we are today, because we are a bit wiser (I hope) and maybe a bit more aware of how quickly these things can go badly.

Unfortunately the present situation is that when Kennith is going to leave me alone with the kids, I revert back to a state of being scared/afraid to cope/afraid I will not cope/that I am getting flashbacks of a hard road where we have been and generally start to get quite anxious at the thought.

I know the logic is that this is totally different and Kennith is not abandoning me.  He is just asking me to look after the kids while he does something else.

No problem in theory – in practice, it makes me stressed and I start to panic and get very anxious.

Kennith mentioned earlier this week, that he was going to watch rugby on Saturday.  So that means he leaves the house in the late afternoon and gets home some time after nine.

Sunday he wants to do a bike ride in the morning and then go and hit a few balls on the driving range in the afternoon.

Seems reasonable.  Unfortunately I am still a little panicked, but I am taking deep breaths and sipping my wine slowly, rather than in big gulps.

This afternoon I am sitting in the sun, sipping my wine, reading my book and Kennith starts chatting to me about the house renovations we are looking at starting.

We are sitting shooting the breeze as you do on a Saturday afternoon when baby is sleeping and the kids are watching television … it’s that moment of calm.

Kennith pipes up: “Are you feeling a bit bloated, because you are looking a bit bloated?”

Here’s a tip – never ask a woman if she is pregnant EVER or how far along she is in her pregnancy– unless you actually hear her panting and counting out the contractions.  But even then, don’t actually ask until you see the head crowning out of her vagina.

Never ask if someone is pregnant, because if the answer is “no” then you have put yourself into what can only be described as a very bad situation and there is no way to get yourself out of it.  There is just nothing you can ever say to rescue the situation.

Second tip – never ask someone if they are feeling bloated!  Because if the answer again is no, well then you will need to get a spade to dig yourself out of the sh*t that you have landed yourself in.  Of course the situation is compounded if you are asking your girlfriend/wife/someone you hope to one day/any day have sex with.

Me: “Er no actually I am not ….”

Kennith – sort of stumbling forward totally unawares that he has stepped into a minefield: “You look bloated, especially yesterday!”

Me – with a slightly arched eyebrow – not smiling so much anymore: “Really you are asking a girl if she is bloated …. this is actually your idea of a good conversation?”

Kennith: “Aren’t you bloated …. like yesterday you looked bloated ….”

Me: “Seriously this is what you are saying?”

Kennith: ……..

Me: “You are asking me if I am BLOATED …. even though I am telling you I am not ….but you are persisting in this conversation  …. you realize you are sitting here and telling me you think I look fat, and I was especially fat yesterday!  What the hell is wrong with you?”

Kennith: “errr…..”

Me: “Seriously do you not think about what falls out of your mouth.”

Kennith: “errr …….”

Me: “If you are trying to ask me if I am experiencing IBS, then maybe ask me how is the IBS going, and how are you feeling – not are you bloated because I think you look fat!”

Kennith: “This isn’t going well is it….”

Me: “No, because you have just told me you think I am fat – seriously how do you negotiate with people if your brain works like this?”

Kennith: “This is going to end up on the blog isn’t it?”

Me: “’fraid so, it sort of writes itself.”

Kennith: “I am going to just curl up here in the fetal position for a bit ….”

Me: “You are an idiot.”