I’m not Charlie Sheen. Not winning today. Tiredy, ranty, tired pants. Just back from the neurologist, loaded with scripts for more drugs. Weeeeeee! Hemiplegic migraines are spaced 3 weeks apart now, which is fairly good going, but we’re hoping to get them to six. My neuro is awesome and I love her a lot. I went down like a sack of potatoes in the school playground last Thursday, which was HIGHLY embarrassing, particularly since I’m now not only the ‘new mum with the diabetic daughter’, but we’re now also the ‘family whose daughter has diabetes, and mum that falls down in the playground after she forgets how to walk’. So much for keeping it out of sight. At least we have the ‘cute little sister’ and ‘husband that rides a motorbike’ going for us. Maybe??
Little L’s diabetes is all over the place. She’s high, she’s low, she’s mostly high, high, high, and emotional and cranky and tired, but trying to hold it together. Like a 17-year old girl, trying to get a grip on her hormonal swings, and be the smiley girl the world wants to see. It’s hard to watch the struggle at 17, and it’s hard for me to watch the struggle at 5. She infuriates me with her irrational rage and tantrums, and I want to squeeze her tight at the same time.
Anyway – I’ve had enough of all this whingey whiney blah-dy blahness. Have you? This is possibly my shortest post in history, but I’m flat out trying to get all this shit together, and get some work (cos that’s gone away now too), and run to appointments, and KITCHEN. FAIRY. WHERE ARE YOU?
So when I saw this I laughed, and laughed, and kept on laughing until I weed a little bit.
I do (secretly) quite like Taylor Swift. But I like the goat even more.