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It’s Movie Clip Wednesday, hosted here whilst Anonymous Boxer is enmired in work.
Just tell me you’re up if you want to play along.
I’m hoping my selection of The Lives of Others will appeal to 63mago since it is a German film with English subtitles. But what a film, the subtitles don’t matter, you just want to know what happens to both the watcher and the subjects of his observation.
So many people have asked me why I don’t do something about my situation. Why don’t I leave my Husband? Why don’t I get my own place? Why don’t I take the children to live with Ruf?
My reply to them is: But what possible benefit could any individual from this family unit get from embracing one of those options? From a purely selfish point of view, yes, I would be gaining my independence from my Husband, who is hardly a tyrant, but I would be exchanging it for the far more savage rule of having to work to try to make ends meet and provide a second comfortable home for my children. So, in effect, I would be losing my independence.
Right from the start, I have always said that I will never leave my children. My own mother deserted us when I was 17, leaving me to deal with a father close to alcoholism and a younger sister, going through the tough teenage years which suddenly became so much worse without a stable family life. Admittedly, they had been arguing for a long time so things were not that secure and we had just moved house away from everything we had grown up with. Things were very tough. I am pretty sure that these difficult times played a crucial role in my insecurity and eventually developing anorexia. I don’t blame anyone, it was just the way that I dealt with it. I refuse to put my children at risk of feeling anything less than confident in their own bodies/personalities/abilities. I try so hard to make them feel loved and cared for – this seems to be especially hard with an increasingly hormonal and prickly teenage girl, but I keep trying. I never want them to think I left them or forced their father to leave them.
Ruf has always said he doesn’t want to be a home-wrecker. From the very start, he fought our attraction to each other because I was still married. However, I will explain it to you, the way I told it to him.
My Husband and I seem to have found a way to remain relatively civil. There are very few rows. We sleep in the same bed, although we do not have any form of physical relationship in terms of sex or day to day affection. This was never discussed but has developed on its own over the last few years. I do not know how he feels about this. If he doesn’t like it, it is up to him to initiate a conversation. For 25 years, I tried to talk to him about affection and feelings until I was blue in the face and he would not accommodate my needs. I will not beg him to love me ever again.
We have a comfortable lifestyle. A nice house in a nice area with a big garden and a bedroom and computer for each child. There is enough money for them to be able to do most of the activities that they wish to try and to go on different types of holiday with the school. For me to leave my Husband or ask him to leave and finance a second home would be to wreck their comfortable, secure, settled home-life. At the moment they have unrestricted access to both parents, who love them very much and are not constantly fighting over whose turn it is to have them or who should be supervising homework or one parent having more money than the other to give treats or withholding maintenance. He does not beat me or them. He is a good, kind man who tries to love the best he can.
Ruf lives in a one-bedroom flat in the middle of a big City, nearly 200 miles away from their friends/family/security. He cannot afford to maintain my lifestyle or that of my children.
The only person who would be made happier by moving to be with him would be me.
There is no good reason for me to leave my Husband but there are so many reasons in relation to my children why I shouldn’t. And to ask him to leave the comfortable home that he has financed would be just as wrong.
To consider either option would be an act of the utmost selfishness, an abrogation of every parental responsibility that I have tried so hard to uphold… at this stage.
In a few years time, they will both be older and more independent. Hopefully, one will be finishing Uni and the other starting there. My absences during term time will not be so noticeable. I can start a slow but inexorable break away.
Of course, anything can happen in a few years and Ruf may have found someone more suitable – younger, prettier, sexier, available now, who wants to settle down and give him his own children.
Who knows what the future holds but, for now, my duty is to be with my children with just a smidgeon of selfishness to ensure that I also get a portion of what it is that makes me happy on a regular basis. You will see from the next post on this subject why I believe that my Husband will continue to collude with me in this facade.
I know it’s selfish, but I want to carry on having my cake and eating it too…
When Ruf expressed a desire to investigate his prostate, the lovely people at LoveHoney provided me with two new toys.
Nexus Duo Vibrating Unisex G Spot Stimulator Medium
This little white pleasure stick was actually much smaller than I expected, which is probably why Ruf was quite happy to insert it into his posterior. We’ve tried before with both a strap on and a medium sized butt plug but his bottom just wasn’t having it. Clenched tight in panic and repelling all attempted boarders.
This little white bundle of joy, however, was just the job because, lubed up and switched on prior to insertion, it relaxed his muscles as it progressed inwards.
Once in position, he could leave it in there for a considerable length of time without feeling distended and the vibrations were very pleasant as he pleasured himself… or got me to do it for him.
He felt quite comfortable with it fully inserted because the design of the base made him confident that it was going to stop right there and not disappear inside him, providing him with a very pleasurable first experience of battery-operated prostate massaging. He even fell asleep for a while with it up there, he was so relaxed!
Naturally, I had to get in on the act. Personally, I think Ruf’s enthusiastic thrusting has stretched my bottom and I fear fecal incontinence in later life because I could hardly feel the blessed thing. I consoled myself with the knowledge that, since I don’t have a P spot, we should really have been inserting it into the other hole…
Toy Joy Private Dancer Beginner’s Prostate Massager
Ruf and I both had a go with this one too. It was bigger than the white vibrating Nexus Duo but, lubed up and stretched by the other insertion, this disappeared into Ruf quite easily and he enjoyed having me ‘rummage’ around with it as we tried to locate his prostate whilst he was pleasuring himself. The little hook handle is very clever.
When the tables were turned, the penetrative part is not as long as the average anal dildo but the shape of it felt very nice as he jammed it against my perineum and waggled using the handle. In conjunction with my tulip clit stimulator, it was certainly very pleasant although I’m not sure it was hitting any particularly sensitive pleasure spots.
The ‘bottom line’ for both these devices is that they were a good introduction to prostate massage for beginners like us and we have continued to incorporate them into our play, both Ruf on his own and the pair of us together.
Personally, I blame that kung-fu-thing that she does. Up until then, we’d been rubbing along together quite happily for twenty years but everything seemed to go tits up after she got involved in that.
Suddenly, three nights a week, she was out and I had to nuke my dinner in the microwave and deal with the kids. That was when she started to get cross over suitable bedtimes if she found them both up when she got home and me in bed asleep.
Mind you, I have no idea why she wants to take up such an unladylike hobby. It’s most unsuitable. Of course, I haven’t actually told her that but I think I’ve made my feelings clear. It’s the first time she’s stuck to her guns about something and continued with it, which is a bit irritating.
She also started to going out to parties regularly at weekends and, on Saturday night, I had to babysit again until she came home at all hours, drunk as a skunk. I can’t think why she wants to hang around with those people.
I think it was around about that time that she really started complaining about everything I did… or didn’t do. She blames me for all the problems with the kids when they don’t behave. She’s so hard on them. Always shouting at them. I wish she could see that it’s far better to be calm and just go with their flow rather than insisting it be done her way and shrieking like a fishwife, before getting angry with me for not backing her up.
I mean, you can’t force a child to eat their vegetables or do something they don’t want to do. But she just looked at me as if I was mad when I laughed and told her that, as they ignored her strident demands that they at least finish one portion and took their plates into the kitchen. I can remember her getting the hump when I used to feed them too. I mean, I know they were 11 then but at least the veg got eaten. She can’t have it both ways.
And then there’s the homework issue. Far better for me to sit down with my lad when I get home from work and keep him company whilst he does his homework than her have a huge row with him about it earlier on when he’d rather be out playing with his mates.
I thought we’d sorted things out the night of the office Xmas party when we had our most recent heated discussion over our relationship and family matters. I came home late to find her in tears and she’d obviously been drinking again. I listened as she told me that she wasn’t sure she loved me. Charming! Continue reading The Karate Wife Whose Husband Is Unhappy
‘If you are making life too comfortable at home, why would they get a job?
Back in January, the papers were full of Lord Mandelson’s leaflet ‘Parent Motivators’, which gave this piece of sage advice, along with the fact that nagging your kids to go and get a job doesn’t work.
Well, no shit, Sherlock!
According to statistics, there are two million young adults still leaving in the family home in the UK – with around 500,000 of them aged 35-44!!!
Now I appreciate that many of the latter will have found themselves in the invidious position of divorced spouses who are paying so much to support their offspring that it does not leave enough to provide a second home and it is far more comfortable to move back in with the parents whilst the financial situation sorts itself out. However, some of them will never have fled the safety of the parental nest and that’s quite a scary prospect because the current generation look set to be increasing those figures by a large amount.
Remembering back to my own teenage years, I was already running a house and holding down a job by the time I was 19. Most of my friends were desperate to move out and find their own flats. We all left school or college determined to make our way in the world and would find work to achieve that end, no matter how low-paid.
In those days, I’m sure there was no such thing as Jobseeker’s Allowance, which paid us £50 a week whilst we ‘found a job’, or ‘colleges’, where kids who have flunked at school can be paid ‘£30′ a week just so they won’t have to be listed on the ‘Jobseekers’ register. A friend was telling me recently about a temporary job he had landed where he found himself trying to teach some basic skills to such youngsters. The problem was that the majority were not interested in learning and when he read them the Riot Act, he was told by the full-time teachers to let the kids get on with it – the same way that they did. If both parties were left to their own devices, then everyone got paid and there was no conflict.
When quizzed on what the future held, these youngsters already had it mapped out. They would do their college ‘course’ for as long as it was paid and continue to live with their parents. Then, if their parents refused to support them any longer, they would get assisted accommodation and Jobseeker’s Allowance before going ‘on benefits’.
It just seems so wrong. Where is the motivation for these children to go out and become productive members of the community? They have everything provided for them at home – TV, computer, music, laundry, cooked meals, waitress service. And, unlike when I was a teenager, invariably, they are not asked to contribute to the household financially to compensate for the additional heat/light/power/water/food that they use.
Again, in stark contrast to the parent/child divide of my teenage years, today’s youngsters have lots of common interests with their parents – music, television programmes, films, hobbies – so there is nothing for them to kick against. No consuming passion to get away.
And with pocket money provided by the State to cover a night out every week with their mates, what is to encourage them to move out and provide for themselves?
It was one of the things that tore my ex and I apart. I wanted to encourage their independence by getting them to pull their weight around the house doing household chores to earn pocket money. He just wanted to wait on them hand and foot and take on all the unpleasant aspects of life on their behalf.
Now that I am not there to take up the slack, he finds himself doing a full day’s work and coming home to a sink full of dishes and crisp-strewn carpets. But, instead of laying down the law, he just sighs and tidies up, muttering discontentedly to himself and anyone else who will listen.
Sadly, he is not alone in this attitude.
From Helicopter Parent, the transition continues to Hotel Parents.
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After the appearance of the pink line, I immediately called my local surgery. I had to explain the reason why ‘this really does need an emergency appointment’, but after that they were brilliant and I was seen within an hour.
My inordinate and unseemly haste to seek an immediate termination is because there is absolutely no way that this baby could ever be passed off as my Husband’s. I don’t think he believes in Immaculate Conceptions. And, even if he did, I could not have dealt with all the lying and subterfuge and fear that this course of action would have entailed, as well as a pregnancy at this stage in my life.
The gorgeous young male doctor (why is it always so when you have something embarrassing to discuss?) looked confused for a few moments when I told him I had a ‘pink line in my box’ but wised up pretty quickly. He asked the usual questions about the date of my last menstrual period which was the 30th of June but noted my assertion that I didn’t believe I was actually that far gone. Obviously, he asked what I wanted to do and accepted that, having just got my freedom back from my teenagers, I really didn’t want to go back to the world of nappies at my age. He asked about future contraception and we discussed the Pill and its problems for the more mature lady, IUDs and their failures. A friend of a friend fell pregnant whilst hers was in situ. She was told it would work its way out within the first couple of weeks. It didn’t. She was told the baby would be born with it in its hand. It wasn’t. But it became very apparent that the child had learning and movement difficulties. Six weeks after giving birth, she was back in hospital having the IUD surgically removed as it had worked its way through her womb and into her pelvic cavity – at what point, no one is really sure. You can understand my reluctance to put my faith in such a device.
Naturally I did not mention the fact that I was having a passionate affair with a younger man who was actually the father of this child, but clearly, the rhythm method isn’t going to work safely for us any longer so this subject will have to be addressed. We will have to be a little less gung ho in our attitude to contraception in the future.
As I said to the doctor, I had never thought that, as the mother of a 16 year old, I would find myself looking the prospect of a termination in the face. Still, better me than her I guess. He gave me a piece of paper with a phone number on it and told me to call them and arrange an appointment. He would sort out the paperwork from there.
The house was full of children when I got home. It seemed almost impossible to find a quiet spot away from flapping ears but, eventually, I managed. After an initial problem with me not having the paperwork which required a call to the doctor and a second visit to collect the same, I was told about all the different options.
The problem is the dates. From the date of my last period, I am 8 weeks and 5 days pregnant and, whilst it is perfectly possible that I could have conceived during one of my July fuckfests, I just don’t feel that pregnant. I suspect it was Finger Fucking Friday that did it. I commented in my post about the stickiness of my arousal in comparison to its usual appearance. Now that could mean that I was already pregnant of course. Or it could mean that I was actually ovulating. I remember the little voices of caution in my head at the time but I was so turned on, nothing would have stopped me from having that man come inside me.
We… or at least I must learn to listen to those little voices, people.
Anyway, there are two methods of termination. The first is by tablet. You go there and take a tablet containing one hormone which softens you up and then you have to go back 48 hours later to have a second tablet which causes your uterus to contract and expel its contents. It can be uncomfortable after the second tablet and you are not allowed to drive home. The problem is that you can only do it up to 9 weeks and they cannot fit me in at my local hospital until Wednesday – when I would be just over 9 weeks given my dates. Of course, I could take a chance as they will scan me and ascertain the actual facts and it could all be ok. However, if I am more than 9 weeks pregnant, the only other alternative at that location is for a surgical termination under general anaesthetic, which is not really feasible with my medical history.
The other option is to go to a proper Pregnancy Advice Centre about 30 miles away. There, they can scan me and then do the surgical termination without a local anaesthetic and I will be allowed to drive home afterwards. If they discover that I am less than 6 weeks, then I still have the tablet option but I have to go back to that location again 48 hours later for the second one and will not be allowed to drive home. I guess if this is the case then, if there is still time, they can rebook me in at my local hospital for both tablets as it will be a lot easier to get a taxi back from a local venue.
It was very disconcerting getting an email from them with directions and a list of what is going to happen and how. The bit that alarmed me most was the warning that there may be demonstrators outside the clinic. Jeez, that’s going to be fun!
This is where my friend Angela-la comes in. After fortifying myself with the first of the many bags of crisps that I would consume that day, I called her to talk about the little pink line and the procedure that I had elected to have done.. It would seem that she lives not too far from said Centre and has insisted on coming to hold my hand and drive me home afterwards.
She said: ‘That’s what friends are for.’
Above and beyond the call of duty.
Thank you. I really will appreciate the company. I’ll try not to cry too much x
And thank you too to everyone who has emailed and commented offering their support. It has been so much appreciated and so humbling to discover that there are so many people who care. I’m sorry I haven’t replied individually to your comments on the blog but I think most of the answers are in the earlier part of this post.
I did reply to some of the emails and joked to some of you about this being a blogger’s dream with material for the next week at least… and then I felt sick to my stomach – and I don’t think it was just all these additional hormones.
I need more crisps. It’s really rather amusing in that I always wanted a part of Ruf inside me. I just never dreamed it would be his hungry gene! However, I will deal with my accumulating muffin top when I’m no longer tiny… or pregnant.
Today I am going through a period of denial, looking up ‘reasons for false positive pregnancy tests’. There is hope. After the buffeting I took at the weekend, I have been suffering with cystitis. There is just a faint possibility that there may have been blood in my urine when I did the test and this could have caused a false positive. Obviously, this does not explain the two missed periods, the nausea or the craving for potato products but when one is clutching at straws…
Later I will do a second test at a different time of day after imbibing vast quantities of water. I mean, I don’t want to turn up at the clinic and have them tell me I’m not pregnant at all – how embarrassing would that be?
Actually… yes… please, I’d really like to check the box selecting the red cheeked option if it’s ok with everyone else…
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Most women complete their six-week caesarean recovery period without any problems. But, for many, it is only years later that the problems start to manifest. It’s not surprising that a lot of health insurance company refuse to cover the effects of a caesarean even if nothing untoward has happend for years.
Nearly two decades on from my first caesarean, as I embark upon my Menopause, I am now discovering the real side-effects.
When the abdomen is cut to liberate the baby, the scalpel goes through at least seven vital acupuncture meridians. In my case, both incisions cut clean through the point that is related to bladder alarm. Compound this with the fact that, after my first operation, my bladder was put back incorrectly so that part of it was folded over and remained like that until my next c-section over three years later. It’s not surprising that I keep suffering from recurrent bladder infections really.
The scar itself is quite neat although it is not level and goes up slightly at one side. It is not tender, although I am aware of a slight feeling of tethering underneath when I massage it. The fascia has definitely been compromised. However, it is the lack of sensation that is most peculiar. A sort of numbness that makes me feel quite sick when I get my bikini line waxed.
In Oriental Medicine, scars are thought to disrupt the normal flow of energy (Qi or chi) and Blood in the meridians (energy pathways). Not all scars are problematic, but they are viewed as potential organ-meridian disturbances. Scars on the lower abdomen (as well as the neck, face, head and spine) can have profound implications due to the energetics of these areas.
My practitioner needed to reactivate some of the vital points that had been cut and the only way to do this was to push very fine needles into my abdomen on either side of the scar. Their trajectory was angled to try to access the required points without actually going through the scar. The goal is to release any trapped energy and begin to restore proper circulation to those key points.
As I lay there, with needles around my scar, up my abdomen, in my legs and my hands, I could feel the energy moving from my pelvic area to my kidneys. It was sort of like pins and needles inside me. The area around and under the scar itself just felt quite peculiar and the bubbling in my intestines signified that some form of energy was being released!
I have had acupuncture before and always feel energised afterwards but this was different. My abdomen didn’t feel so uncomfortable and it was as if the bladder valve had been released so I didn’t have the urge to pee so often. I had taken my first dose of a second course of antibiotics two hours before, so that could have had an impact, but the next time I visited the toilet, that horrible rending sensation as I attempt to void the last of the urine had disappeared.
I think acupuncture is really going to finally help my caesarean recovery.