Wednesday, 14 January 2015

Boobs, boobs, boobs... My anti-love-affair with breastfeeding...

Let's talk boobs.

Boobs…. Boobies…. Back-breaking-balls-of-big-baby-feeding-bustiness…. Breasts.

I can't deny mine have taken quite a battering in their time… I can't quite look at them directly, eye-to-nipple, without wincing a bit and remembering a time before my areolas were the size of plates...

And it's fair to say my relationship with breastfeeding is love/hate. I love it for its ease, the lack of washing up, the milk-drunk effect and for the occasional times it doesn't feel like a nail-bomb has been let off behind my nipple by some kind of tiny tit-terrorist… but then I hate the social awkwardness of the strategically placed muslin in front of the in-laws, the 'where the f@*k are all the chairs with arms' moments, the lonely night feeds and the wholly undignified experience of pumping, in front of your husband, a person whom you'd like to view you as something other than a giant veiny udder who cries a lot… 

I also hate the stigmas, the stereotypes and the constant judging of breast versus bottle feeding parents. Why the f@*k are we all so obsessed with how other mums feed their babies?! And why do we have to invoke such guilt?! God forbid an intelligent, healthy mother makes the decision that breast-feeding is not right for her, or to *cowers in fear of disapproving glances* combination feed … MAY SHE BE STRUCK DOWN BY THE FORCES THAT BE AND FORCED TO SEW UP HER VAGINA FOR THE SAKE OF ALL MANKIND FOR-EV-ER.

Jesus it's a bloody nipple-tastic over-opinionated minefield out there… I for one cannot wait to introduce a bottle, (and a break for my poor, permanently-semi-erect dinner-plate-nips), and have some bloody guilt-free time off. With WIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEE…. Yes. I just want to be left alone to feed my child the way I bloody want to, whilst weeping into a kitkat and remembering a time I wasn't terrified to step out of the house without nipple pads.

Rant over.

Sorry about that.

It's probably just the sleep deprivation...

*gets back to kitkat and weeping*


#platenips


Tuesday, 6 January 2015

The Second (Wally) Coming

The WallyBoy's here!
I say with a cheer,
But try not to cough, sneeze or laugh...
For second time round,
You daren't make a sound,
In case your uterus falls out of your arse. 

My little chap has arrived,
My vagina survived,
Though it won't be winning contests for beauty.
With a full fanny-fro,
I can tie my labia in a bow,
But can confirm that it still did its duty.

The first days were tough,
I couldn't be festive, I looked rough,
The toddler took a shit under the tree...
While I sat in my PJs,
No idea of the week days,
Terrified to fart, poo or wee.

My boobs feel like sandbags,
The size of bloody handbags,
My nips are actually bigger than his head.
I sit lubing up each tit,
From my crusty dressing-gown pit,
And they say; with two, the romance is dead...?

So hurrah for the WallyBoy,
Our little bundle of Christmas joy,
Let our life as a foursome begin.
Life might not be glam,
But it's worth it for this tiny man,
Now someone pass me a goddamn super-sized gin. 


#WallyBoy
#FannyFro
#gin



Friday, 19 December 2014

A #Prangry Due-Date Post to My New-Baby Self...

Dear me,

First of all. 

You look like shit. 

But that's ok. Because your compared to your vagina right now you're a vision of beauty...

And. 

No matter how tempting it is, do not sneak a peak with the hand mirror. You should have learnt your lesson from last time. #roadkill

Second of all. 

Well done. 

Seriously. 

Well-f@*king-done. 

Because if you're reading this back then you've made not one, but TWO goddamm human beings with your fanny, given up alcohol for 9-months TWICE and now you deserve a bloody big bastard pat on the back and a visit from Jesus himself by way of apology for the vag-damage. In fact. Scrap that. Gary Barlow should be writing a song in your honour right now to celebrate your awesome contribution to society and is probably definitely on his way round with Howard, Mark and some fucking trumpets to serenade the shit out of you and your awesome person-producing uterus.

So here's some advice from your pregnant/angry (#prangry) self which I need to impart incase you ever think pregnancy is a good idea again...


  • Remember yourself right now. You have the circumference of Russia. And if that isn't enough then this is the moment to get the hand mirror out. 
  • Two words. FACE GIRTH. 
  • You're so emotional you were actually on the verge of needing counselling after the John Lewis Christmas Ad. You are still yet to watch the Sainsbury's one the entire way through and that is best for everyone.
  • You've only survived pregnancy with a two year old because of Frozen. But it's been a double edged sword; yes you've micro-napped your way through several hours of disney baby-sitting, but now every time you hear 'Let it Go' you have to punch yourself in the face and do a Gaviscon shot just to make it to the end…
  • The toddler has forgotten that cooking ever happened and now believes all food comes to the door via 'The Pizza Man'. You supplement with carpet raisins. You don't even care. You're eating a cheesy garlic pizza bread with no hands as you're typing this… 
  • Stairs. They're just not for you anymore. 
  • And anyone who thinks pregnancy is empowering hasn't ever tried to get out of a roll top bath on their own whilst full term.
  • When you sit down, your bottom now forms a little shelf behind you which the toddler can use to sit on… If it wasn't so horrific, it'd be quite practical. And if only 'Bumbo' hadn't already been patented eh…
  • There is an actual roll of fat where your wrist meets your hands. Yes. You have developed actual arm-cankles. Or wrankles
  • From nip to naval you look like you've been carved out of blue stilton. Yes. Veiny. Beautiful. #stiltontits
  • No-one should have to shoe-horn their feet into socks. 
  • Also. Your maternity leggings are actually too small. TOO SMALL. Thanks for that little boost H&M, it was exactly what my self esteem needed after harbouring a tiny man in my womb for 40 weeks without any f@*king wine to numb my enormous face.
  • I think Wrankles deserves another mention. 


#neveragain
#wrankles
#ginnowplease




Tuesday, 9 December 2014

Pregnant near Christmas (what a f@*king shit)

Pregnant near Christmas...
What a f@*king shit.
No boozy parties, just excessive amounts of smarties,
While only your dressing gown will fit.

Pregnant at Christmas...
What a bastard arse.
Just half a glass of champers, while you re-arrange the pampers,
Your glam factor just dropped by half.

Pregnant for Christmas...
What a twatty plan.
Everyone else is up to sunrise, while you're comatose via mince-pies,
Adding to your already impressive span.

Pregnant this Christmas…
What a stupid idea.
Sod the festive magic, while I'm feeling this tragic,
F@*k Band Aid, f@*k Elf on the Shelf, f@*k Reindeer.

Pregnant over Christmas…
I'm really rather bereft.
So thank Baby Jesus himself, that by the bloody twelfth,
I'll only have one-pissing-week left.


#HappyF@*kingChristmas
#BahHumbug
#PregnantNearChristmas




Thursday, 4 December 2014

How to Survive the Christmas Countdown with Toddlers (contains sarcasm,gin and more than a few festive F-bombs)

December has arrived.

And with it, all the usual over-commercialised, guilt-laden crap to really get us all in the spirit…

But this year is the first year my toddler is taking notice.

Shit.

She's nearly three and suddenly... I have to start actually explaining things. And actually creating some magic. And actually fighting off a pack of nine-year-olds using my best diving/biting abilities to get the last Elsa snow-glow doll in the wider Hampshire area…

Yes. #WallyChristmas has truly arrived. Here's my tips on how to survive:

  • Buy at least three advent calendars. You can't be expected to resist temptation for 25-bloody-festive days?! THAT WOULD BE INSANITY.
  • All biscuits should come in yards now... Yards… #thatisall *nods without blinking*
  • You can't actually watch 'Elf' too many times. It never stops being funny. NEVER. You should remember that when your 'main present' turns out to be another f@*king pasta necklace. 
  • No matter what you buy the toddler it'll be old news by Boxing Day… If I took a shit in a box and wrapped it up she'd be happy. Poking it with a stick for three hours like she does to the ones at the park would probably be the highlight of her day.
  • Elf on the shelf can f@*k off. (No I'm not destroying the magic. I'm just sick of my Facebook timeline being full of twatty smug photos of annoying twatty shit.)
  • Once you've eaten all the purple, green and toffee Quality Street in the tin, this counts as finished. And means you can buy another one. #winning
  • Beginning December 1st, you should practise your not-disappointed-face in the mirror ten times a day so you're ready for your husband's gift. If it's an iron or a slow cooker, you are legally entitled to set fire to him. 
  • This year you'll be setting festive traditions that will last forever… so remember not to set the bar too high. A mouldy orange in a sock and a Co-op mince pie by the back door seems like my kind of limit to be honest… Magical… 
  • You are well within your rights to only decorate the top two foot of your tree. And accidentally on purpose lose/misplace all the toddler-made decorations. Call me a bitch, but half-baked-playdoh-snot-handprints on glitter string just isn't my kind of thing...
  • Do you know what's easier than creating cards for the Grandparents with your child…? Accepting that toddlers are shit at drawing. And making the decorations yourself. With your left hand. Whilst so drunk you can't see. So no-one can tell the difference… #festivewin
  • In between the tears and rows, don't forget to instagram photos of your entire family smiling in matching Christmas Jumpers/Onesies because that is totally original and absolutely no-one else in the UK will be doing that. Phew.
  • Black Friday was a cold run for the Boxing Day sales. I may have got fisted in the face by a telly, and used my enormous pregnancy frame to my advantage, but that's nothing compared to the damage I can cause with my baby outside my uterus. In a pushchair. Covered in knives. And an axe... It'll be like robot wars. With hormones. And people's shins.
  • And most importantly, make it easy on yourself - and be slightly drunk from the waist up at all times.

Happy Christmas Folks.

#toddlerXmas
#gin


Saturday, 22 November 2014

Reasons to Love Being the Mummy of a Toddler

It's true that my blog is a touch on the negative side... In fact as I look back through my face gets sad and my vagina starts weeping... So time for a post which celebrates all that is awesome about owning a two-year-old.

Here's what's brilliant about being Mummy to a Toddler:

(Yes I said that. I promise I'm not drunk or anything.)


  1. You can steal their hair-bands and Peppa Pig hair-slides when yours have all been eaten by the universe. And look shitting awesome rocking them down the pub. 
  2. Same applies to their pens. As clearly all of ours have been stolen by the sofa-people and taken to f@*king Narnia or something... Everything in our house since mid 2011 has been written in glitter pen and/or Petit Filous. 
  3. Earlier my almost-three-year-old urgently proclaimed 'Mummy! Oh no! Your big tummy has got boobies!' upon entering the bathroom as I was having a bath. No-one has ever described a pregnancy figure better. EVER.
  4. Any argument can be won by simply shouting 'NO' louder than the previous seven times... I think we can all learn from this.
  5. Just when you're worried they're not eating enough, they sort themselves out… Two day old radiator-baked toast-crust with a play-doh couscous is a delicacy to be savoured.
  6. There is never an inappropriate time to break into full 'elf dance'. THANK YOU Ben & Holly for brightening up the dullest of shopping trips and queueing experiences.
  7. Sometimes, they make you run so late, you miss entire appointments/events you never wanted to frigging-well go to in the first place. #winning
  8. They can pull out the 'cute act' just at the right time in local cafes so they get free biscuits and marshmallows. Which you then eat. To help soak up your secret sippy-cup vodka. 
  9. You can use them as a human shield for old people and chuggers. 
  10. They don't yet judge you for your borderline inappropriate pre-midday alcohol habits… unlike Daddy. And Santa. And the 'sober' mums at early-bird song club with their brushed hair and clean children. Judgemental slags.
  11. They tell you you're beautiful even when you have a Cheerio stuck to your left eyelid, haven't brushed your teeth for over 24 hours and you've been wearing your dressing gown so long that the flap part has fused with your labia. 

#toddlermummies
#dressinggownlabiafusion




Saturday, 15 November 2014

Dear Vagina...

Dear vagina,
Please don't let me down.
We'll be in it together,
When the baby starts to crown.

I'm relying on you,
To get me through this shit.
To hold yourself together,
And not fall apart or split.

I need you to maintain relationships,
With my pelvic floor and perineum.
So you can swiftly deliver,
My uterus to freedom.

I'll need you in future,
I need you up to the task.
If I ever want to have fun times again,
Without doing it in the… *cough* dark...

So please vagina,
Just get me through this thing.
I promise just one way traffic after this,
Under the calming influence of gin.

#dearvagina
#gin
#4weekstogo 

Monday, 10 November 2014

Toddler Cinema Trips and Other Ways to Ignore Your Child Whilst Eating Chocolate :)

Last weekend a small piece of my soul died as I sat through a sing-a-long version of Frozen at our local cinema with the two-year-old, and *whispers* not only quite enjoyed it and also knew most of the words… (ok all the words.)

It was, in fact, a complete success... Although given my criteria for success is either 'Was it better than childbirth?' or 'Do I get to eat cake while doing that?'... I wouldn't get too excited…

But yes. We survived. Honestly. My husband has the bite marks to prove it...

We're no modern day Von Trapps, but the toddler bloody loved getting her groove on whilst belting out 'Let It Go' at an impressive level to rival the pack of 5-year olds behind us. And it was actually almost… relaxing

Yes.

I did say that word.

I could be hooked. A two hour session of toddler entertainment where I basically sit on my arse, occasionally providing a chocolate button, sort of paying attention and blaming my pregnancy flatulence on the surrounding small people whilst eating Whisper Bites… What's not to like?!

So. For those yet to brave the big screen with a pre-schooler, here's my tips for making the most of it:


  1. Do not arrive early. Instead spend the morning completing a series of toddler-exhausting challenges; playground laps, scooter circuits, badger chasing… arrive as the film starts, then sit back and relax...
  2. NO sugar in the lead up. It's the toddler equivalent of doing crack before you head to the library. Less calories in, equals less skin and hair pulled out. 
  3. Avoid the snack counter. They place the fruit-shoots at toddler eye level deliberately. Because they are c@*ts. 
  4. Have a scale of treats. Begin with fruit flakes/optimistic orange segments for 'sit down' bribery, escalate to Pom-Bears or chocolate buttons for 'please get off my lap and just bloody watch it' encouragement, and keep the holy grail that is Haribo for when they start assaulting other children with their booster seat and heading at speed for the fire-exit…
  5. Containment, containment, containment. Sit either side. Use large bags as containment units to block any visible exits. Be aware, toddlers can climb. And you might not be aware of this yet, but you can't.
  6. Establish a series of elaborate hand gestures which you and your husband can furiously sign at one another in order to ensure all snack demands and containment breaches can be dealt with swiftly. Obviously it will be his fault if the Pom-Bears aren't administered in a speedy enough fashion at any point. Twat. 
  7. Make eye contact with no-one. Ignore everyone around you and focus on keeping the toddler completely engaged. Anything goes in this man-made dimly-lit fortress of parental popcorn-laden guilt… If you need to punch a feral six-year-old in the face with a pic'n'mix bucket for obscuring your view, then that's just what you need to do. 
  8. Remember. This is your chance to weep freely while no-one is watching you… Let it all out whilst eating sour cherries until you can't feel your face.
  9. Gin helps.

#winning
#toddlercinema
#gin

Boobs, boobs, boobs... My anti-love-affair with breastfeeding...

Let's talk boobs.

Boobs…. Boobies…. Back-breaking-balls-of-big-baby-feeding-bustiness…. Breasts.

I can't deny mine have taken quite a battering in their time… I can't quite look at them directly, eye-to-nipple, without wincing a bit and remembering a time before my areolas were the size of plates...

And it's fair to say my relationship with breastfeeding is love/hate. I love it for its ease, the lack of washing up, the milk-drunk effect and for the occasional times it doesn't feel like a nail-bomb has been let off behind my nipple by some kind of tiny tit-terrorist… but then I hate the social awkwardness of the strategically placed muslin in front of the in-laws, the 'where the f@*k are all the chairs with arms' moments, the lonely night feeds and the wholly undignified experience of pumping, in front of your husband, a person whom you'd like to view you as something other than a giant veiny udder who cries a lot… 

I also hate the stigmas, the stereotypes and the constant judging of breast versus bottle feeding parents. Why the f@*k are we all so obsessed with how other mums feed their babies?! And why do we have to invoke such guilt?! God forbid an intelligent, healthy mother makes the decision that breast-feeding is not right for her, or to *cowers in fear of disapproving glances* combination feed … MAY SHE BE STRUCK DOWN BY THE FORCES THAT BE AND FORCED TO SEW UP HER VAGINA FOR THE SAKE OF ALL MANKIND FOR-EV-ER.

Jesus it's a bloody nipple-tastic over-opinionated minefield out there… I for one cannot wait to introduce a bottle, (and a break for my poor, permanently-semi-erect dinner-plate-nips), and have some bloody guilt-free time off. With WIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEE…. Yes. I just want to be left alone to feed my child the way I bloody want to, whilst weeping into a kitkat and remembering a time I wasn't terrified to step out of the house without nipple pads.

Rant over.

Sorry about that.

It's probably just the sleep deprivation...

*gets back to kitkat and weeping*


#platenips


The Second (Wally) Coming

The WallyBoy's here!
I say with a cheer,
But try not to cough, sneeze or laugh...
For second time round,
You daren't make a sound,
In case your uterus falls out of your arse. 

My little chap has arrived,
My vagina survived,
Though it won't be winning contests for beauty.
With a full fanny-fro,
I can tie my labia in a bow,
But can confirm that it still did its duty.

The first days were tough,
I couldn't be festive, I looked rough,
The toddler took a shit under the tree...
While I sat in my PJs,
No idea of the week days,
Terrified to fart, poo or wee.

My boobs feel like sandbags,
The size of bloody handbags,
My nips are actually bigger than his head.
I sit lubing up each tit,
From my crusty dressing-gown pit,
And they say; with two, the romance is dead...?

So hurrah for the WallyBoy,
Our little bundle of Christmas joy,
Let our life as a foursome begin.
Life might not be glam,
But it's worth it for this tiny man,
Now someone pass me a goddamn super-sized gin. 


#WallyBoy
#FannyFro
#gin



A #Prangry Due-Date Post to My New-Baby Self...

Dear me,

First of all. 

You look like shit. 

But that's ok. Because your compared to your vagina right now you're a vision of beauty...

And. 

No matter how tempting it is, do not sneak a peak with the hand mirror. You should have learnt your lesson from last time. #roadkill

Second of all. 

Well done. 

Seriously. 

Well-f@*king-done. 

Because if you're reading this back then you've made not one, but TWO goddamm human beings with your fanny, given up alcohol for 9-months TWICE and now you deserve a bloody big bastard pat on the back and a visit from Jesus himself by way of apology for the vag-damage. In fact. Scrap that. Gary Barlow should be writing a song in your honour right now to celebrate your awesome contribution to society and is probably definitely on his way round with Howard, Mark and some fucking trumpets to serenade the shit out of you and your awesome person-producing uterus.

So here's some advice from your pregnant/angry (#prangry) self which I need to impart incase you ever think pregnancy is a good idea again...


  • Remember yourself right now. You have the circumference of Russia. And if that isn't enough then this is the moment to get the hand mirror out. 
  • Two words. FACE GIRTH. 
  • You're so emotional you were actually on the verge of needing counselling after the John Lewis Christmas Ad. You are still yet to watch the Sainsbury's one the entire way through and that is best for everyone.
  • You've only survived pregnancy with a two year old because of Frozen. But it's been a double edged sword; yes you've micro-napped your way through several hours of disney baby-sitting, but now every time you hear 'Let it Go' you have to punch yourself in the face and do a Gaviscon shot just to make it to the end…
  • The toddler has forgotten that cooking ever happened and now believes all food comes to the door via 'The Pizza Man'. You supplement with carpet raisins. You don't even care. You're eating a cheesy garlic pizza bread with no hands as you're typing this… 
  • Stairs. They're just not for you anymore. 
  • And anyone who thinks pregnancy is empowering hasn't ever tried to get out of a roll top bath on their own whilst full term.
  • When you sit down, your bottom now forms a little shelf behind you which the toddler can use to sit on… If it wasn't so horrific, it'd be quite practical. And if only 'Bumbo' hadn't already been patented eh…
  • There is an actual roll of fat where your wrist meets your hands. Yes. You have developed actual arm-cankles. Or wrankles
  • From nip to naval you look like you've been carved out of blue stilton. Yes. Veiny. Beautiful. #stiltontits
  • No-one should have to shoe-horn their feet into socks. 
  • Also. Your maternity leggings are actually too small. TOO SMALL. Thanks for that little boost H&M, it was exactly what my self esteem needed after harbouring a tiny man in my womb for 40 weeks without any f@*king wine to numb my enormous face.
  • I think Wrankles deserves another mention. 


#neveragain
#wrankles
#ginnowplease




Pregnant near Christmas (what a f@*king shit)

Pregnant near Christmas...
What a f@*king shit.
No boozy parties, just excessive amounts of smarties,
While only your dressing gown will fit.

Pregnant at Christmas...
What a bastard arse.
Just half a glass of champers, while you re-arrange the pampers,
Your glam factor just dropped by half.

Pregnant for Christmas...
What a twatty plan.
Everyone else is up to sunrise, while you're comatose via mince-pies,
Adding to your already impressive span.

Pregnant this Christmas…
What a stupid idea.
Sod the festive magic, while I'm feeling this tragic,
F@*k Band Aid, f@*k Elf on the Shelf, f@*k Reindeer.

Pregnant over Christmas…
I'm really rather bereft.
So thank Baby Jesus himself, that by the bloody twelfth,
I'll only have one-pissing-week left.


#HappyF@*kingChristmas
#BahHumbug
#PregnantNearChristmas




How to Survive the Christmas Countdown with Toddlers (contains sarcasm,gin and more than a few festive F-bombs)

December has arrived.

And with it, all the usual over-commercialised, guilt-laden crap to really get us all in the spirit…

But this year is the first year my toddler is taking notice.

Shit.

She's nearly three and suddenly... I have to start actually explaining things. And actually creating some magic. And actually fighting off a pack of nine-year-olds using my best diving/biting abilities to get the last Elsa snow-glow doll in the wider Hampshire area…

Yes. #WallyChristmas has truly arrived. Here's my tips on how to survive:

  • Buy at least three advent calendars. You can't be expected to resist temptation for 25-bloody-festive days?! THAT WOULD BE INSANITY.
  • All biscuits should come in yards now... Yards… #thatisall *nods without blinking*
  • You can't actually watch 'Elf' too many times. It never stops being funny. NEVER. You should remember that when your 'main present' turns out to be another f@*king pasta necklace. 
  • No matter what you buy the toddler it'll be old news by Boxing Day… If I took a shit in a box and wrapped it up she'd be happy. Poking it with a stick for three hours like she does to the ones at the park would probably be the highlight of her day.
  • Elf on the shelf can f@*k off. (No I'm not destroying the magic. I'm just sick of my Facebook timeline being full of twatty smug photos of annoying twatty shit.)
  • Once you've eaten all the purple, green and toffee Quality Street in the tin, this counts as finished. And means you can buy another one. #winning
  • Beginning December 1st, you should practise your not-disappointed-face in the mirror ten times a day so you're ready for your husband's gift. If it's an iron or a slow cooker, you are legally entitled to set fire to him. 
  • This year you'll be setting festive traditions that will last forever… so remember not to set the bar too high. A mouldy orange in a sock and a Co-op mince pie by the back door seems like my kind of limit to be honest… Magical… 
  • You are well within your rights to only decorate the top two foot of your tree. And accidentally on purpose lose/misplace all the toddler-made decorations. Call me a bitch, but half-baked-playdoh-snot-handprints on glitter string just isn't my kind of thing...
  • Do you know what's easier than creating cards for the Grandparents with your child…? Accepting that toddlers are shit at drawing. And making the decorations yourself. With your left hand. Whilst so drunk you can't see. So no-one can tell the difference… #festivewin
  • In between the tears and rows, don't forget to instagram photos of your entire family smiling in matching Christmas Jumpers/Onesies because that is totally original and absolutely no-one else in the UK will be doing that. Phew.
  • Black Friday was a cold run for the Boxing Day sales. I may have got fisted in the face by a telly, and used my enormous pregnancy frame to my advantage, but that's nothing compared to the damage I can cause with my baby outside my uterus. In a pushchair. Covered in knives. And an axe... It'll be like robot wars. With hormones. And people's shins.
  • And most importantly, make it easy on yourself - and be slightly drunk from the waist up at all times.

Happy Christmas Folks.

#toddlerXmas
#gin


Reasons to Love Being the Mummy of a Toddler

It's true that my blog is a touch on the negative side... In fact as I look back through my face gets sad and my vagina starts weeping... So time for a post which celebrates all that is awesome about owning a two-year-old.

Here's what's brilliant about being Mummy to a Toddler:

(Yes I said that. I promise I'm not drunk or anything.)


  1. You can steal their hair-bands and Peppa Pig hair-slides when yours have all been eaten by the universe. And look shitting awesome rocking them down the pub. 
  2. Same applies to their pens. As clearly all of ours have been stolen by the sofa-people and taken to f@*king Narnia or something... Everything in our house since mid 2011 has been written in glitter pen and/or Petit Filous. 
  3. Earlier my almost-three-year-old urgently proclaimed 'Mummy! Oh no! Your big tummy has got boobies!' upon entering the bathroom as I was having a bath. No-one has ever described a pregnancy figure better. EVER.
  4. Any argument can be won by simply shouting 'NO' louder than the previous seven times... I think we can all learn from this.
  5. Just when you're worried they're not eating enough, they sort themselves out… Two day old radiator-baked toast-crust with a play-doh couscous is a delicacy to be savoured.
  6. There is never an inappropriate time to break into full 'elf dance'. THANK YOU Ben & Holly for brightening up the dullest of shopping trips and queueing experiences.
  7. Sometimes, they make you run so late, you miss entire appointments/events you never wanted to frigging-well go to in the first place. #winning
  8. They can pull out the 'cute act' just at the right time in local cafes so they get free biscuits and marshmallows. Which you then eat. To help soak up your secret sippy-cup vodka. 
  9. You can use them as a human shield for old people and chuggers. 
  10. They don't yet judge you for your borderline inappropriate pre-midday alcohol habits… unlike Daddy. And Santa. And the 'sober' mums at early-bird song club with their brushed hair and clean children. Judgemental slags.
  11. They tell you you're beautiful even when you have a Cheerio stuck to your left eyelid, haven't brushed your teeth for over 24 hours and you've been wearing your dressing gown so long that the flap part has fused with your labia. 

#toddlermummies
#dressinggownlabiafusion




Dear Vagina...

Dear vagina,
Please don't let me down.
We'll be in it together,
When the baby starts to crown.

I'm relying on you,
To get me through this shit.
To hold yourself together,
And not fall apart or split.

I need you to maintain relationships,
With my pelvic floor and perineum.
So you can swiftly deliver,
My uterus to freedom.

I'll need you in future,
I need you up to the task.
If I ever want to have fun times again,
Without doing it in the… *cough* dark...

So please vagina,
Just get me through this thing.
I promise just one way traffic after this,
Under the calming influence of gin.

#dearvagina
#gin
#4weekstogo 

Toddler Cinema Trips and Other Ways to Ignore Your Child Whilst Eating Chocolate :)

Last weekend a small piece of my soul died as I sat through a sing-a-long version of Frozen at our local cinema with the two-year-old, and *whispers* not only quite enjoyed it and also knew most of the words… (ok all the words.)

It was, in fact, a complete success... Although given my criteria for success is either 'Was it better than childbirth?' or 'Do I get to eat cake while doing that?'... I wouldn't get too excited…

But yes. We survived. Honestly. My husband has the bite marks to prove it...

We're no modern day Von Trapps, but the toddler bloody loved getting her groove on whilst belting out 'Let It Go' at an impressive level to rival the pack of 5-year olds behind us. And it was actually almost… relaxing

Yes.

I did say that word.

I could be hooked. A two hour session of toddler entertainment where I basically sit on my arse, occasionally providing a chocolate button, sort of paying attention and blaming my pregnancy flatulence on the surrounding small people whilst eating Whisper Bites… What's not to like?!

So. For those yet to brave the big screen with a pre-schooler, here's my tips for making the most of it:


  1. Do not arrive early. Instead spend the morning completing a series of toddler-exhausting challenges; playground laps, scooter circuits, badger chasing… arrive as the film starts, then sit back and relax...
  2. NO sugar in the lead up. It's the toddler equivalent of doing crack before you head to the library. Less calories in, equals less skin and hair pulled out. 
  3. Avoid the snack counter. They place the fruit-shoots at toddler eye level deliberately. Because they are c@*ts. 
  4. Have a scale of treats. Begin with fruit flakes/optimistic orange segments for 'sit down' bribery, escalate to Pom-Bears or chocolate buttons for 'please get off my lap and just bloody watch it' encouragement, and keep the holy grail that is Haribo for when they start assaulting other children with their booster seat and heading at speed for the fire-exit…
  5. Containment, containment, containment. Sit either side. Use large bags as containment units to block any visible exits. Be aware, toddlers can climb. And you might not be aware of this yet, but you can't.
  6. Establish a series of elaborate hand gestures which you and your husband can furiously sign at one another in order to ensure all snack demands and containment breaches can be dealt with swiftly. Obviously it will be his fault if the Pom-Bears aren't administered in a speedy enough fashion at any point. Twat. 
  7. Make eye contact with no-one. Ignore everyone around you and focus on keeping the toddler completely engaged. Anything goes in this man-made dimly-lit fortress of parental popcorn-laden guilt… If you need to punch a feral six-year-old in the face with a pic'n'mix bucket for obscuring your view, then that's just what you need to do. 
  8. Remember. This is your chance to weep freely while no-one is watching you… Let it all out whilst eating sour cherries until you can't feel your face.
  9. Gin helps.

#winning
#toddlercinema
#gin