I've had a few days off from writing my ramblings. I hit the wall. I could see it coming and couldn't do anything about it and I crashed into it big style. Compounded by a night out with a few glasses of wine at a friend's house (although her magic refilling meant I drank more than anticipated) I crumpled. In hindsight I needed to hit the wall, because after I've done it, dusted myself down and got myself up again and I feel like I can take it all on again, but the run up to it is awful.

The run up to the wall makes me feel like such a failure. I hate myself, I hate my life, I resent this illness more than usual (was going to say "normal" but since that doesn't exist, I changed it). I feel like I'm walking through setting concrete, I agree with all the awful things hubby says to me, I hate how I look (being of the fatter end of the fat variety) and I generally just feel like I'm wasting oxygen.

I've had so much more on my plate recently. I've had Biggey and her behaviour (or lack of it), Littley with her Alopecia, hubby in a decline - I think. I had the Social Worker on the phone last week wanting to come out so that she can discharge us, I've had our Consultant appointment cancelled because she's on holiday, and whilst we went to the ammended appointment yesterday we were told that that it was the 24th of next month not this month. My only comment was that next month isn't a Monday, and that was the day I was given and the date that was written on the calender. Seeing as how they want to up his meds, why they moved his appointment back a whole month is absolutely beyond me, but heyho - what do I know?

I've been feeling very isolated and abandoned by the people who are supposed to make me feel not isolated and abandoned and that helped with the wall. I've been letting things get on top of me. I've been feeling sad - not depressed, but sad. I've been resenting how this illness is going to take hubby away, I've been upset by comments from family that made me feel like my feelings and thoughts on the matter are unfounded. I've gone into myself further than I normally do and I've let the wall creep in from the shadows and go "dadaaaaah". It's all my own fault, I let things get on top of me. I've known it was coming and I didn't take a step back to prevent it. I've felt like a shadow of myself. Like I'm a doll in a doll house that's only played with and then put back in the box when I'm not needed. My bath was taken out months ago. It was my only bit of me time and I miss the "shut the door and close out the world" of having a bath. Add to that, my favourite tree (my one tree lol) that I have grown from a twig (and I mean a twig) with beautiful green leaves that waved and bobbed in the wind and was my little bit of feeling like I still live in the wilds of the countryside was dug up and taken away because he didn't want it. I just felt like another piece of me had gone - and it's only a tree for God's sake.

It's taken me over a week if I'm honest about it to hit rock bottom. It's taken a couple of days to dust myself down. I went to bed early last night and slept like the dead. I got up this morning and made pancakes with the sun shining. I've gotten two loads of washing out. I'm going to bake later this morning. I've been in the garden and seen that I have little ballet dancers on my Fuscia. Seeing these little ballet dancers is what finally made me smile. Little things and all that.

Whilst hitting the wall is awful and horrific, now I'm on the other side of it, I feel all the better for it now. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger... bring it Hercules ;o)

Talking about how tired hubby is when he's home and inturn how grumpy he can be I was asked "Does he have to do any housework when he's at home?" I said "pardon?" "You know, does he have to hoover or anything when he's home?". My husband does nothing around the house, he doesn't have to, readers of this blog will know about how much housework I have to do. It's not the things he's doing at home that's tiring him out. Those that are asking him to do things for them need to think about how much it tires him out before asking him to do things. Does he have to do any housework when he's at home? I ask you. 

Oh my God. If one more person tells me "but he seems fine when we see him" I don't think I'll be responsible for my actions. Whilst everyone has problems, I know this, ours are ours and are not made any the less because "he seems fine when we see him". He's out and about doing this and that - yes he is. Yet what they just don't get is that whilst he's out and about doing this and that he's putting on a show, which stops as soon as he is home. They don't see the way he behaves in the house, they don't hear the things he says in the house, and whilst being completely selfish here - whilst going "I know it can be difficult sometimes" is a way of dealing with his illness to them it doesn't mean anything is any easier for us here at home.

I understand not wanting to accept this illness, I understand not wanting him to have this illness, I know it's a way of making it less worse than it is, but by Christ it doesn't make it any easier for me or our tiddlypops. What we feel and how we feel should not be brushed under the carpet because he's smiley and happy when he's there on "the hubby show". It's bloody difficult. It's hard work, and for us at home there is no reprieve because even when he's not here because he's out and about doing this and that he still comes home and we know what it's going to be like when he is here.

Telling me I'm doing a great job is nice, but I'm not. I'm failing epically at the moment. I have one child with Alopecia, I have one who I had crumpled on the floor last night sobbing her heart out because she can't take anymore and I have one who just pulls into herself. My children deal with things that "they" don't see, or don't want to and being told "it's his illness" doesn't cut it. That's their dad. They are too young to differenciate between daddy and ill daddy and why should they - I'm 37 and I struggle to deal with hubby and "hubby who comes round for a cup of coffee". I am cross and tired and sick of feeling like I'm making things up because he doesn't do that when they're about or he's there.

I am tired of feeling guilty for saying that it's difficult so I've given up saying it's difficult. I am tired of making things sound better than they are because of how others will feel, but I do it because it makes them feel better. Sometimes it is about us, and I shouldn't feel bad for saying that - but I do.

How do you mend something that is unmendable? I can't. There are no magic plasters that will cover the cracks in our little family. The ripples being cast from our Dementia pebble are gathering momentum at the moment with turbulence gathering pace.

Biggey is really struggling at the moment. I don't know what to do, where to start or how to make it better. I sat her down last night and she was like a crumpled polystyrene cup. She sat there on the floor before me sobbing her heart out. She's a frightened, sad, tired little girl. I cried yesterday. Several times. I know that hormones are coming into the mix, but the temper and anger is not normal - I don't care what anyone says. I don't know how much more she can take. Listening to her sob that she couldn't take anymore, that she is frightened of what is going to happen to daddy, that she is frightened of how he speaks and what he says to me, that she just doesn't want to be here broke my heart. She's frightened that her behaviour and things that she says is going to tip me over the edge.

Things are going wrong at school (although I'm not being told this), things are hard for her at home, there just doesn't seem to be anywhere where she feels safe and happy - and as a mum I am failing. Where do you start? Again. I'm tempted to keep her off the last week of school, but how would that help - it would just be same problems in a different logistic.

We've got almost eight weeks of holidays ahead of us. Hopefully it's going to be full of sunshine because then at least they can run about outside - but that's no answer either.

To top it all off, at 4.58pm yesterday, I just missed a phonecall from our social worker. I mean seriously. Who rings with two minutes to go untill home time? Now I've spent all night worrying about what that was about - especially when I've been onto the school and Action for Kids about Biggey. It's like a big, black void that just never ends. Dementia. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

Biggey suffers from dealing with what is going on at home with her anger. I thought we had kind of got it under control. When I say anger, I don't mean physical, but banging doors, shouting, screaming are part of the norm with it. I just don't know what to do anymore. She's having issues at school, which I thought I had dealt with, but her guidance teacher is off ill at the moment and maybe I'm wrong.

Three minutes before leaving home for school this morning I get handed a white sheet from school. Upon reading it - hastily because she needed it signed for school today, it appears there was an issue in technology where apparently she sawdust was thrown. She is persistent that she didn't throw sawdust, but the letter was about sawdust throwing. Her responses to the "cue"uestions on the sheet of paper (like, "why did this incident happen") were down to her anger. She has written it was down to her anger - so she must have been angry.

I just don't know what to do. I am going to ring the school because I need to know more about this - I'm not a happy mummy about it. I'm not happy with her behaviour at the moment, it's not on. I wouldn't have accepted this kind of behaviour prior to Dementia, and I'm not happy with it now, but how do you deal with a 13 year old (a young 13 year old come to that) who has so much going on in all directions that she's got herself tied in knots and just doesn't know how to deal with it. The lying and telling tales and half truths means that I can't get to the bottom of things or deal with them accurately. When I say lying, it's little things such as "it wasn't me" etc. It's not on, it's not fair but then I'm a grown up and she's just little. She is a lovely little girl, she really is, but at the moment there are times when neither of us like each other, me with because of the behaviour, and her with me because I can't mend anything.

She says we are a broken family. She's the one that if there's shouting to be done at the children by hubby is the one that is on the receiving end. I am just at a loss and that makes me a useless, horrid mum who can't fix the things that I'm supposed to be able to fix. The best I can do is ring the school and try to find out more about what's going on, and to ring the lovely lady at Action for Kids because I just need a little bit of help to try and get this rudderless ship back on course without suffering casualties from falling overboard. At the moment I think that the RNLI should be on standby.

There are always people worse off than yourself, that's the saying - but dear Christ, I wouldn't want to be them. Anyway, mini rant over. I don't have too long to wait before I can make some phonecalls. Maybe one day I can get up and not be humming "one day at a time, sweet Jesus" - that would be nice. 

I don't know what's wrong with me at the moment, I seem to have lost my mojo slightly. I'm a bit off kilter.

Expecting the worst on Saturday night with the extra tiddlypops he proved me wrong and was absolutely delightful. The girls were super behaved aswell, which really did help. Biggey was at a sleepover, so I decided to let Middley have a night of watching films with me whilst the other three were in littlie's bedroom. At 12.20pm whilst Middley and I were watching "ParaNorman" (can I just say, it was absolutely brilliant and would cheerfully watch it again) the phone rang. Oh, my, God. Who rings at that time of night? Middley answered the phone before I could get to it, and didn't know who it was - slightly sick feeling in my tummy raising... I said hello only for it to be hubby on the other end of the line. "Could you go and turn the telly down in Littlie's room, because if I have to do it, it means getting up, getting dressed and going into a room with other girls and I can't be arsed". I had thought somebody had died. Phew. It did make me smile though, so I traipsed up the stairs to oblige.

Sunday morning I was awoken with a prod to my ribs... I didn't have a clue what time it was, but then neither did he. The reason for this is because there was no electric. "I suggest you get up, get dressed and go down to the shops to buy some credit for the electric. You never have any electric on the meter (which is not true, otherwise nothing in the house would work), I don't know where you waste your money, you never organise yourself properly, you are useless, blah, blah, blah". I came downstairs at it was just after 7am. The reason there was no electric was not my fault. There was a powercut, but I didn't know this, nor did the energy people who were sending an engineer to the house because he is "vulnerable" with being registered disabled. I was out fiddling about with my Honeysuckle plant when I asked our neighbour if they had electric, and no they didn't. Bugger. Back onto the phone to cancel the engineer. Bang goes the making pancakes for the tiddlypops breakfast, and toast for that matter, but they did have bread and chocolate spread (no @WanderingKirsty, there was no cheese - that, I'm leaving for another day lol). I did a silent "nah, nah, nah, nah, nah - you weeerrrre wroooonnngggg" song in my head. No electic meant that when he did get up there would be no way of boiling water for his coffee... huge sigh. Coffee and his meds is what makes him almost liveable with. God bless next door for providing him with this. (Note to self - a gas cooker will be the purchase of choice next time round).

He had told me the night before that we would go and see my dad on Sunday. WOW - you could have knocked me down with a feather. We never do anything that revolves around me or my family. I nearly had a heart attack when he said he'd buy a Chinese for dad's tea - again... is there something wrong with him? Why is he being nice?... This is where it goes a bit belly up... "We'll get to your dad's at 2pm" said he the night before. At 1.30pm he decided to ring his friend to say he wouldn't be going to his house that afternoon. Then he rang his dad (fair does, it's Father's day), then it was a case of taking some lunch out of the freezer to take with us because I couldn't cook it at our house due to a lack of electricity. At 2pmish he decides he should get ready for the drive. The drive that takes over an hour. This lack of being bothered about the time just continues. Now I haven't been in the car with him for a while, and the last time I was I wasn't concerned. I'm normally asleep ten mins into a long journey when I'm a passenger. Not this day... If we're going to hit something I want to see it coming (maybe that's the wrong attitude - maybe sleep would be the better option, I'll think on that one). I don't know if he was doing it on purpose or if it's genuine, but dear God. We went round corners screetching. There was a time I thought he was going to cowp the car. He seemed to be speeding up when he should have been thinking of slowing down and vice versa - like I said the other day, he's in a cantankerous fettle with me at the moment, so I'm not sure if this was deliberate but I'm going to have to keep a close eye on him because if it's genuine then I'm concerned - and if that's the case, I'm snookered because he had to fight to get his licence and before he got it back there was talk about ending it all because of not having it. No stress there then...

Down at my dad's he was lovely, which is usual because there are other people to put on a show for. Now then. My mother and sister came over. I love my mother dearly, but bugger me she can rankle me. She can ruffle my feathers without even trying. "Constantly Trying - I like your eyeshadow today, but oh you look tired and pale, why's that?". Why can't she just say something nice and not finish it off with removing the compliment? Better still, not mention anything at all infront of husband, children, brother and girlfriend, my dad and my sister. I am knackered. I do put makeup on to try and conceal it but why start a conversation where hubby can turn around and say "I don't know why she looks tired - it's not like she does anything to warrant it". GRRRR.

Mum, me, the girls and my sister went to pick up the Chinese take-away. This was lovely. Until I got back into the car with the food and she tried insisting that you ate the Prawn Crackers on the way home with the tea. NO - you don't. Yes you do. "What do you think Middley, you think we should have some don't you?" "No mum. You can wait until we get home before you have some". Huff ensued. "What Constantly Trying wants, Constantly Trying gets - I don't want any now." No mum. What Constantly Trying wants, Constantly Trying doesn't get. Of all the people that I would have thought would know that, I had thought it would be her. Hubby doesn't like things like double dipping (y'know, when you use a crisp twice in a dip - think of the germs etc, etc). He doesn't like people helping themselves to food off other people's plates. "If you want some, put it on a plate and have some, just don't pick at other people's meals". I agree with this. The fact that hubby had bought this food for all of us and was a treat for my dad really, really rankled me. Dear God, it was less than a ten minute drive till we got home to have some. Out of the whole weekend, this is what has niggled me the most. I do not get what I want, and for her to think this in such a churlish manner just pissed me off big style (sorry).

The prawn crackers were not eaten and I brought them home because dad doesn't like them. We had them with tea tonight and they were lovely (said in a slightly churlish manner...).

The other thing (yes, I know, I'm boring you - sorry) was a white envelope with my name on for my dad to give to me when hubby wasn't about. I waited until I got home only to find the contents of which were a learning report on how to treat people with dementia. FFS. He's not in a home. I actually stopped reading it because it was making me more and more angry. I am his wife. Yes I am his carer, but I am his wife. I felt offended by some of what was staring at me in black and white. I felt patronised (so I don't know how the carers who are being trained with this report feel like). The patient (of course they are a patient to carers, that wasn't what irritated me) blah, blah, blah. They might this, they might that. I just felt like "they" were cattle. "Remember to be cheerful. Remember not to patronise, remember that even if you've heard this story before to the patient it's the first time they've told you...". Why did my mother give me this? I haven't even asked. I mean, it might get more interesting when I've calmed down enough to read the rest of it. It might be all singing amd all dancing, but hubby sat at the kitchen table looking over my shoulder whilst I was looking at it, because you can't hide anything from him and why should I, asking which level I thought he was at going by the stages that are described in this sodding pamphlet - just had me seeing red. Also "Why would your mother give you this? You must have asked for it for her to give you it" really did not make for a calm evening. Seriously - for someone who works within this illness writing guidelines etc (fortunately this was not one of hers because I would have offended her if I told her what I think of it, and still will when I do) you'd think that she'd think about the outcomes of scenarios and the ensuing aggrevation that can come from it, hubby's and mine.

Anyhoo - that brings us up to today. Today he was going to his friend's house. They were going out. He couldn't remember where they were going when they went out, and I still don't know now, because he doesn't need to tell me "You're not my mother". So he came home in time for tea. Went outside to speak to our neighbour (God bless him because he's a star) and the next thing I know they're away to look at a sit on lawn mower for his sister. "It's only £400". His sister knows nothing about him going to look at this lawnmower, and whether or not she wants it is another thing. "She might not have £400 to spend on a lawnmower hubby". "It's a good price, she can borrow the money of mum and dad" was his response and off he goes. Monday night is Theater Group night and I go along just to get out of the house. He natters to our neighbour whilst I'm away with Littlie, so the other two girlies are fine as there's always someone else here. So when he wasn't back I sent Biggey down with Littley because I don't like leaving any of them at home on their own. Middley then went out to play for hubby to come back and ask "why do you have your face on" (my makeup makeup - to conceal the fact I look knackered all the time). I explained why only for him to say "why didn't you remind me?". I just smiled. It wouldn't have made a difference anyway - he'd have still gone. Now hubby thinks rather than having a new sit on lawnmower (I forgot to mention that the one he was going to look at had already been sold, probably to a huge sigh of relief from his sister that doesn't know he was away to get it for her), she would be better off with a tractor. Bloody hell Hubby. It's one thing spending our money (which he does), it's another someone else's. He came inside to have his tea at about 9.30pm, only for him to put his laptop on. What was he looking at? Tractors on ebay. They're only about £2,500. Jesus.

I constantly feel that I'm trying to juggle with too many balls. No matter what I do, I'm dropping at least one of them. I don't feel like I'm giving enough attention to anyone and that everyone suffers for it. I'm feeling a bit of a failure at the moment, which is only compounded when hubby rams that comment down my throat. I worry about him, I worry about the girls, I worry about having no money, I worry about paying bills, having shopping and all of the other essentials. I'm not on about luxuries (I can't even remember what they are now) and I just feel stretched to full capacity, and obviously I'm not because I just feel like things are going downhill at the moment. He's forgetting more and more, and to be honest, Dementia really affected his behaviour and moods because the Arricept seemed to sort out his forgetfulness, but now his memory is going downhill (which is to be expected I know), but more and more balls just seem to get added and the more I try, the more I seem to fail. And I'm going to be completely selfish here (and yes I know you shouldn't start a sentence with an "and"), the thing that annoys me the most about this illness? The fact that the stress I constantly feel under is not reducing my waistline. Everybody else I know who has an inkling of stress drops weight in a couple of days - not me. I wouldn't care, our shopping is bog standard basic with very few thrills in it and I still resemble a whale that has been beached (thank God Greenpeace don't come this far North). This is the thing that annoys me the most. So I'm going to go and have a small vodka and diet coke. If I remember rightly there's only 55 calories in a measure of vodka, and that is less than a bag of crisps. 

I'd thought that I'd planned tonight to a "T". I had thought wrong. The plans were for hubby to be home and have tea before the extra kiddlypops arrived so that he could go to his friends this evening whilst they're running around making a noise and be in bed for him coming back. Well, that was the plan. Silly me. He's now coming home at 7.30pm so I'll be making tea as children are here and then he'll be home whilst they're running around. They say if you tell God your plans you'll give him a laugh - he must be in hysterics right now. I now have hungry children because he's got tea in the back of the car and the rest will be fed when I make tea and that oncoming train that is mayhem is hurtling towards me with it's lights flashing and it's whistle blowing and I don't have a pair of knickerbockers to take off and waft about furiously to try and stop it. 

Where do I start?...

Hubby is being very cantakerous at the moment. I'm lazy, I'm not doing anything... blah, blah, blah. He's getting more forgetful but I don't know if that's him getting more forgetful or if it's him trying to push my buttons.

Last night, half an hour after tea he asked "what's for tea?". He genuinely looked like he meant it, but once I said "Are you pulling my leg? We've already had tea" he jumped in with "I know - it was sausages". Needless to say, it wasn't sausages. It was boiled baby potatoes with pork strips done in a mushroom sauce with peas, sweetcorn and brocolli and even if I do say so myself it was lovely. Littley had had the last of the ice creams, but oh no... "You've had it, of course it was you. You don't get to your size without stealing the nice food in the house. I can have nothing, you take it all". It kind of went down hill from there with biggey going to bed because he was being so horrid to me at 8.30pm. "You're a bully daddy". I gave up an hour later and went to sort washing sitting on the bed. I found a load of tea towels I'd been looking for so there was a plus side to it. I'd just like to say that sewing a rip on a tee-shirt that is dark grey with black thread with only the bedroom light on is not a good idea. I might aswell have had pincushions for fingers - serious "OUCH", but that's a tee-shirt I couldn't afford to throw away mended - another yay moment.

Middley made me smile this afternoon by telling me she's "side-kick". What? "You know mummy, side-kick...". Think for a moment... "Oh, you mean psychic?". "That's the one mummy". Did have visions of her dressed as Robin to Batman there... She still hasn't given up on the theory that Nelson Mandela is the Skittle advert man, but then when she and littley were discussing it, Littley thought it was President Obama - so there's not much hope there. Biggey asked this morning if she could have a baked potato for tea tonight because she didn't want home made pizza. "Why?" - "Just because I fancy it". "Yes, but why?" - "because I don't fancy pizza for tea". "That's fine Biggey, but you're not home for tea tonight, you're going to your friend's house...". "Oh yeah, I forgot". Dear God - what is it with this house?

Before hubby went out today he told me that I'm lazy. Yet again. I simply smiled at him and made him a cup of coffee. He then told me that today I had to spend at least five hours doing housework that he wouldn't notice I'd done... WTF? He doesn't notice the housework I have done and then shouts at me for not doing it, so what chance do I stand doing housework that he won't notice I've done (if that makes any sense whatsoever). If only I had middley's "side-kick" ability... ;o)

It's been an uppy downy kind of a day. Just when you think that your plate is full and that you're trying to manage what's on it, someone goes and gives you a bigger plate. Today I've had a few laughs, but I've also shed a few tears.

The laughs started this morning when Middley was convinced that Nelson Mandela is the man on the skittles advert. She still isn't convinced by me saying that he isn't, "it might be that man on the film Evan Almighty". "You mean Morgan Freeman?"... "that's the one". 

The next one was when she asked if she could needle the dough I was making for the Garlic bread. "You needle away sweetheart". That made me smile too.

The next one started as a laugh. Middley, was sat next to me whilst we were watching something on the tv, and she said that I had a spider in my hair. Oh My God. There was. Could I get it out? Don't be daft. The girls thought this was hilarious. It wasn't until I stood up to shake it out of my hair that hubby started. I was rediculous for trying to get it out of my hair. I am rediculous. I am the cause of all the problems in this house. The girls don't like me. He doesn't like me (but then I don't like him very much at the moment either so we're even), they'd all be better without me. I tutt and I huff and I snuff, and I snarl and it's all my fault. He'd blame me if the sky turned green I'm sure of it. I don't retaliate any more. I bite my tongue and don't answer. Even when I cry the tears are silent. In my head I'm screaming, but the tears just roll down my cheeks silently. He left the room and middley asked me "are you alright mummy?". Bless my girls. 

I took Littley to the doctor today. She has to go and get bloods taken tomorrow to rule out any illness but he's sure it's Alopecia. "This is caused by stress. Why would a nine year old be stressed?". Deep breath... "Have you read her daddy's notes like you were asked to?". "No". Another deep breath... "He has Dementia. A nurse told her that he would be going into an old people's home. Do you think that's sufficient to cause stress?". "Yes". He doesn't know how much she will lose, I'm to keep an eye on it. She'll probably see a specialist. "Try to keep stress to a minimum" was his parting words as we left. My inner voice just replied "If I could keep stress to a minimum, she wouldn't be losing her hair", but I just smiled and said thank you. I'm going to get an appointment with my doctor when we get her bloods done tomorrow.

Hubby is stressed about her hair loss, it's something else to add to the bucket load of things he worries about now. He's got the car tomorrow (again) so it's another trek to the chemist to get the magic cream they didn't have tonight so it can be put on her arms before we go to the doctors. Another walk to the doctors. Another walk home. He just seems so detached from everything. In one respect he hates me, but in another it's a case of "Constantly Trying will do it. She'll sort it". I'm always the bad guy. Everybody else sees the "normal" him. He controls it to the best of his ability with others, like he's putting on a performance. With me it's a different him. I get everything thrown at me. I used to remember a time when I had a starring role in the "Constantly Trying show". Now I'm the person who brushes up the stage on the "Hubby show". I used to appear in his show. I used to feel the limelight. Not now. I'm the one at the end of the night who clears up for the star of the show. The one everyone forgets about. The one who is only noticed when they aren't there because they haven't done what should be done. It's sad, and this is the best it's ever going to be. It's just very sad.

Everyone says "tomorrow's another day". It's just a shame that it's always the same as today.

Waiting on the washing machine that I thought I'd turned on (but hadn't due to the water being off for the whole day...) has given me extra time to think about littlie, again.

I really could cry for her. Having been told "daddy will end up in an old people's home" at the age of eight (no excuses for the ten and twelve year old either), and only finding out a couple of weeks ago (because of their moods within the house when daddy's not home) has just been the dotting of the i's and the crossing of the t's for me.

She's a beautiful little girl (I know they're mine and I'm supposed to say this, but all three of mine are beautiful - hubby's looks have rubbed off on them, my little tiddlypops), she really is. Blonde, blue eyes, slightly built (she's under four stone and is nine years old. She can wear knickers for three to four year olds) and she's tall (again, thanks to daddy's dna) and she is truly a shining light.

Why is it that people don't think about what they say. Why is it that they can say what they want, when I try so hard to filter what they hear?

She has a "friend" at school calling her fat. There is no fat on her body. She's an active little girl who never stops. She's so tired sometimes that she can't sleep. She doesn't always eat until she's full because she worries about being fat (my dna... guilt, enormously - no pun intended), and she's lovely.

Now her hair is falling out, and now it's obvious. She told her proper friends at the weekend. They were all lovely about it. She simply said to them that she has so much to worry about. The other two show their emotions like a bottle of pop. Their anger is like the bottle of pop being shaken. When the pop fizzes over that's their anger being released. Littlie doesn't fizz over. She keeps it inside. She explained to her friends that losing her hair is her "fizz". 

She's nine and so wise. She's caring and thoughtful and worries about other people's feelings. I want her to fizz over, but she keeps it in. She's worried about how other people would feel if she did, and now her hair is falling out. My beautiful little princess, with her husky voice and her beautiful cornflower blue eyes and wide smile that lights up a room.

It makes me angry that other people thinking that they're doing "good" can have such a detrimental effect on such a little girl who does nothing but make people smile. Shame on them.