Monthly Cycle, My arse!

I have finally cracked it, I am not on a monthly cycle. I have obviously evolved into a five weeker. Now I am not talking about being Mrs Surfboard rider pants. It Goes a little like this.

Week 1 & 2 - I am on fire, Super Mum, baker extrodinaire, gourmet chef, garden guru, diary jam packed with lots of things to do, completely relaxed, many craft projects underway(even though they wont get touched again for another four weeks!)

Week 3 - Laziness personafied, move or dont turn up to things in diary, eat much crappy food and have really inventive ideas about why I should get out of exercising.

Week 4 - My signifigant other, generally makes my skin crawl. He cannot have an idea, do a job or make a comment without me having to have input, direction and generally trying to ground down any self respect and cockiness built up over the last four weeks.

Week five - I am the most unattractive wilderbeast to have ever stomped on the planet. I have no clothes, no money, I am fat and the worst mummy in the world and possibly even smell. I am amazed CH is not shagging around with a check out chick called Beverly.

Currently I am on the cusp of week five. On reflection it was not a good time to go shopping with CH. Not just any shopping, clothes shopping......even worse......clothes shopping for me. fade in dramatic music..wilder beast in pink tutu enters stage left.

While I dragged CH from discount shop to even more discount shop, we stumbled upon a discount jewellery shop. Now if this had been week one two or even three, things would have been fine, but...... CH turns to me and says 'Oh I suppose it is time I bought you a ring for having Ella' Hmmnnnnnn, my head nearly turned a 360 and I had to restain myself to respond accordingly to the greeting the bleach blonde behind the counter gave me. It was not just the fact that all product was crappy, distasteful and cheap(normally my favourite). It was the realisiation that YES the prat was well aware of the tradition of giving a gift to the mother of your child in thanks and praise, but choosen to ignore. All thought, sentiment gone and truly sucked the joy clear out of giving.

I am under no delusion of our finacial status, so I am not expecting a huge big expense. But feck it I am expecting. In a dream environment the gift would be bought with money saved and sacraficed from his beer money, in a home made, handcrafted box filled with thoughtful items, a bound book of poems written just for me, an equisite item of Jewellery he had hunted through streets of antique shops and waited eight years to give me when the moment was just right, a box of my favourite chocolates from Brussels, a cherished childhood book of mine restored to former glory.......I am reminded of a Tui ad. YEAH RIGHT.

Thankfully, with poise and dignity I pretended to see a sale rack I was extremly interested in, dragging him away. I fear it is not the last I will see of that discounting dick jewellery warehouse. Even if the gift does come from there it will not matter as I will know that time and thought went into driving out of his way and out of his comfort zone and make things so much better. Besides parking at that place is almost as painful as birth.