Karma police

To the lowlife scumbag who attempted to break into our house,

Thanks a lot, your timing was impeccable. It's a real treat to walk into one's house on a Wednesday evening just before your toddler's bedtime, mosey on down the hall to get the phone to call your husband who is of course away...only to suddenly feel rather strange as you quickly retrace your steps down the hall to where you suddenly realise that the glass panels next to the front door are smashed in and your toddler is just millimetres away from stepping on glass, which is, oh, i don't know, everywhere.

Better still, ta muchly for the incredible adrenalne rush upon realisation that there is no sign of forced entry via the door, nor anything noticeable missing and so with heart thumping and unborn baby kicking madly you scoop up your toddler as you hotfoot it back to the car with the sudden realisation that you, you despicable excuse for a human could still be in the house.

I'm sure you'd also get a laugh out of the fact that the interior light in the car was blown and that I couldn't get a neighbour to come to my assistance in our dark little cul de sac.

So nice of you to change my daughter's bedtime routine into a trip to the local police station, followed by a return trip back home with a patrol car and two officers who confirmed that yes, you had tried to break in, but that you had failed and oh, look that's your blood everywhere, including all over my daughter's beloved dolly sitting innocently on the front verandah.

Thanks for the bonus treat too. You know, the one where upon opening the mail at the police station before help in the form of saintly grandparents to arrive I discovered that you had torn into it and wiped your filthy blood all over a birthday card and a catalogue of children's things I had been showing my daughter.

Yep, you've been great. Thanks for turning my home into a crime scene for which we had a two hour visit from forensics and the ten hours' work it took to clean up your handiwork. Really loving my even greater inability to sleep well ever since your little visit just thinking of what might have been, and the fact that you. bled. on. my. daughter's. doll. And. that. we. were. alone.

I don't care if you were drug affected, or that your mummy didn't love you enough as a child, or whatever bullshit you tell yourself to justify your sorry existence. All I know is that your hurt yourself badly enough to warrant medical attention.

Quite frankly, I hope your freaking arm turns gangrenous and falls off.

Don't you ever come near my house again.

Yours sincerely,
hissychick.

Partying like it's 1976

Thought for the day: I am not thirty one, I am celebrating the tenth anniversary of turning twenty one.

Happy birthday to me. And stuff.

MIA

I know, I know, I've been missing in action.

I've meant to post for a while now as there's no shortage of material but I've been feeling rather down these last few weeks. Stems from the fact that I'm trying to juggle parenting a toddler, pregnancy, a husband under enormous work pressure and my own job...and I'm doing any of them well:

- The poo monkey is showing some major signs of regression following her introduction to daycare which i won't go into just yet, but it has me seriously questioning whether it was such a good idea after all

-I'm so tired and rundown and blah, I can't believe that there is still at least 12 weeks of being a fat chick to go. At least usrper is healthy, god only knows how when all i seem to do is stuff my face with chocolate

-Husband has so much on his plate, I feel so guilty that he has to come home to a tearful cranky wife who can't be stuffed doing even the most basic of housework after a day of zero patience with the poo monkey

-I've been so tired when I get to work that I have barely been able to keep my eyes open, let alone do anything productive.

This too shall pass. I hope. Sigh.