Wednesday, 25 March 2015

The Alternative Baby Glossary… (contains no gloss and lots of disappointment)

Good Sleeper = The empty LIE which tempted you into unprotected sex in the first place… (*note to  self* - in future, just have a Twix.)
Good Feeder = My nipples look like pate.
Bad Latch = My baby ate some of my pate nipple.
Tongue Tie = Nature's way of telling you you're baby's not a pate fan.
Cluster Feeding = Your baby f@*king loves pate.
Combination Feeding = The breast-police are very disappointed in you and you and vagina are going to hell.
Nipple Confusion = You'd be confused too if you had to fit that in your face.
Feeding Position = Yeah, you better be holding your baby at exactly 37 degrees perpendicular to your lap or they will be all up in your shit like a tiny-milky-twat.
Facial Recognition = When they look at you and shit. Yes, your face makes them shit themselves. Let's try not to read into that too much. 
Colic = You won't be leaving the house for a while and when you do, it will be to go and cry behind some bins.
Reflux = The Universe has decided you are a horrific human being and this is your punishment. Along with how your vagina looks now.
Baby Socks = Another one of the Universe's jokes…
Controlled Crying = If you think for a second you are in control of anything then you should probably sell your ovaries on the internet right now.
First Smile = Wind (and denial).
First Laugh = Lots of wind (and denial).
Wind = My baby is really happy (but no-one squeeze them too hard).
Floor Gym = Somewhere to leave your baby so you can go take a shit for the first time in three days.
Jumperoo = Freeeeeeeeeeeeeddddddoooooommmmmmm. Escape to the bathroom now and eat as many Snickers in a row as you can before it's too late…
Tummy-Time = Baby face-planting with tears.
Babble = I'm trying to talk to you, you rancid whore.
Baby Wearing = You don't even need to put down your gin…?! #nobrainer
Skin-to-Skin = Excuse for a bath.
New Baby Smell = When you've washed off the vagina sections with Johnsons.
Baby Bath = You think you're cleaning your baby, but what really happens is you dry them and all their skin falls off. Until you stick it back on with baby oil.
Teething = Run away now while you still can...
Co-Sleeping = Remember when you used to have sex…? No. Probably best.
Sleep Regression = What the internet tells you to say when your baby still thinks 20 minutes sleep per night is acceptable at 4-months old.
Growth Spurt = What the internet tells you to say about everything else...
Positing = When your baby farts milk out of their face. In chunks.
Milestones = The precious moments where your baby begins sitting, eating, crawling and walking… and the moment you realise why baby vests have shoulders like that…


Alternatively, simply apply 'Growth Spurt' to everything on this list. And have some gin while baby-wearing.

#alternativebabyglossary
#gin


Sunday, 22 March 2015

Things you should know about owning a threenager...


  • Firstly. You don't own them, you have just made a really shitty investment that now answers you back and only eats pizza.
  • Secondly. They know when you've put a supermarket own brand pizza in a Domino's box… they know… and you will suffer…
  • Threenagers don't tantrum. Oh no. It's far worse now... Every. Bastard. Thing. Is a serious negotiation… 'I'm too scared to go to the park... I'm too small to walk any more... I'm too big to eat... my tummy hurts so I need to wear your shoes today.' Urgh. #killme
  • No matter how long they've been potty-trained, one wrong move and you will find a shit wrapped around a Barbie when you go through the toy box.
  • But then there's nothing that can't be solved with a packet of Haribo and a pair of sparkly party shoes. For ten minutes or so. Then you're really f@*ked.
  • Yes. They can go to nursery every day this week dressed as Elsa. And they forgive you for being too stupid to initially realise this. 
  • You are now officially the 'sharing police'. Count in one day how many times you tell your 3yr old it's 'nice to share'... If you put a quid in glass each time you will be able to buy Russia by September.
  • No laughing at undesignated times. 
  • And absolutely NO SINGING OVER THE LET IT GO BIT IN FROZEN UNLESS YOU WANT TO LOSE HAIR, SKIN AND DIGNITY.
  • They can use an iPhone better than you can.
  • And there can never be too many half-face selfies. Ever. 
  • Planning on eating out...?! Don't. It's a trap… The iPad doesn't work anymore… you better set aside some time to mourn this period of your life. You won't be going to cafes/restaurants/out of your living room for playdates anymore. 
  • You can't lie. They have now somehow developed photographic memories. So if you promised a biscuit to get them out of the playground, you better be Hobnobbed-up-to-the-shitting-max at home or you've definitely got a toy-box-turd coming your way…
  • They know injuries mean attention. So you better hide all the knives. 
  • They're really not babies anymore… even though they'll always be your baby... Just a 'baby' that can single handedly knock out an Alsatian and FaceTime themselves doing it. 


#toyboxturds
#threenagers 

Wednesday, 18 March 2015

10 Myths About Newborn Babies and Other Shit to Cry to…

  1. That newborn baby smell…? That’s sections of stuck on vagina and neck-curdled breast milk. Yeah. Kiss my baby now.  
  2. Sterile water and cotton wool balls does not bastardy-well cut it during a projectile poonami. Frankly, this is a job for Cillit Bang and wine.  
  3. You will never leave the house without muslins ever again. No matter how crusty they (or you) are.
  4. Sleep when the baby sleeps… Do you actually want me to stab you?! If you need me, I’ll be doing tequila shots to the face and picking the crispy bits off my leggings during the 45 minutes he’s slept today thanks.
  5. Mirrors (and salad) make you sad now… 
  6. Of course having a baby doesn’t impact negatively in your marriage/relationship… which is why you’ve booked a Hysterectomy, and got some vodka and your episiotomy selfie saved on the iPad in case he tries to come near you with his penis.
  7. You don’t know why your baby is f@*king crying. You just know you have nipples. And that works. #nipplewin
  8. ‘Dreamfeed’ implies some kind of sleep. You’re not ready to laugh about this yet. *heads to a darkened corner and rocks back and forth hugging some gin*
  9. You would do anything for someone to take the baby off your hands for an hour or so… Until someone offers and you want to punch them in the face for even beginning to suggest you are not coping. Wankers.
  10. Whatever the question, the answer really does always begin (and end) with #gin.
##gin
##episiotomyselfie


Sunday, 15 March 2015

Dear Mummy... (A Mother's Day poem)

Dear Mummy... we just wanted to say thank you,
For putting up with all of our shit.
We're sorry for the winging, the crying and the whining,
And all the times we punched you in the tit.

We're sorry you never have time to shave your legs.
We're sorry that you've now grown a tash...
We're sorry you don't get to wear a bra anymore.
And we're sorry about the baggy vag.

We're sorry your tummy looks like a dehydrated scrotum,
We're sorry you leak a bit when you laugh.
We're sorry you never get to eat toast on your own.
We're sorry we've lost seven Sophie the Giraffes.

We're sorry about the Cheerios and human shit in your hair,
We're sorry about the substantial loss of skin...
We're sorry you never get to poo alone,
We're sorry that CBeebies has driven you to gin.

So thank you, our Mummy, for all of the things,
You put up with from us every day.
You're the best f@*king Mummy that we've ever had,
And we love you in every way.


(We also got you this daffodil with fox turd on it that we found in the road. Enjoy.)


#DearMummy
#foxturddaffodils
#gin

Friday, 27 February 2015

The Modern Daddy.

This one's a thank you to the modern Daddy;
The baby carrying, push-chair rocking, changer of the nappy.
The night-time bouncing, muslin dousing, king of the sling,
The story-reading, face-to-get-peed-in, human baby-gym. 
Thank you for the night-feeds, that give my boobs a break,
Thanks for making me cups of tea, while I cry into an enormous cake.
Thanks for ordering pizza, when I've made a total shit of dinner,
Thanks for pretending my dressing gown actually makes me look thinner.
So this one's for you, our modern Daddy,
The night-time driving, colic surviving, chap that still looks happy.
Thanks for Friday night wine-time, where mummy gets a little bit plastered,
And thanks for being such an awesome Dad, and a goddamn lovely bastard.

#moderndaddy



Wednesday, 18 February 2015

The Three Shades of Newborns. Uncovered.

I'm 8 weeks in.

I can feel my face again… I can almost hold an adult conversation… and I no longer spend every moment the baby isn't awake in the foetal position, rocking, sobbing and spooning Nutella into my mouth with a Sophie the Giraffe…

Yes.

I can see the light at the end of the liquid-yellow-shit-stained tunnel, and there's mascara, wine, and underwired bras there… *stares wistfully off into distance at the thought of real underwear again…*

So now that the newborn fog has begun to clear, let me impart my wise learnings from the past 2 months...


1. Changing.

There will be poos. Many poos… More poos than you ever thought possible for a 60cm human being to produce. And after the first 24 hours of attempting to clean stringy-korma-mustard-turd off of a tiny wrinkly scrotum sack with cotton balls and sterilised tears, you too will be Amazon-Priming the shit out of the Johnsons's baby wipes like the rest of us. Fact.

NB - If your baby isn't pooing, simply dress them in white, put on a nice top, or attempt to leave the house on time… and watch the poonami commence.

2. Sleeping.

The internet told me that newborn babies like to sleep for 18 hours a day… *pauses to wait for hysterical cry-laughing to stop* and I can see the funny side of this now that I've realised the internet is a FULL OF MOTHER-FRIGGING LIES. (and is mostly cats.)

Besides, if you slept when the baby was sleeping, when would you fit in your gin? That 20 minutes IS your only #ginwindow; your time Tanqueray, tears and reminiscing about the area you used to call your vagina… and now looks like something a fox threw-up...

Babies are pretty boring during the day though… perhaps because need to get their rest in during daylight so they've got the energy to really f@*k your shit up at at night.

3. Feeding.

If ever there was a time where you considered your breasts our own… those times are gone. Long gone… like the elasticity of your stomach skin and labia…. You are one giant on-demand udder. Held together with clicky-clippy nursing fastenings. *flinches* 

In the beginning, there was plague, famine, death and destruction. Then. There was Colic. Which is totally actually worse. And mostly consists of feeding your child. Then watching them explode like an tiny, angry, milky baby-volcano, while you shout something like… WHERE THE F@*KING TWATTING TWAT IS THE MUSLIN. DEAR GOD IT'S IN MY EYES. NOW IT'S DRIBBLING INTO MY MOUTH. GOD. WHYYYY. WHYYYYYYYYYY….

Then finding the muslin in your hand.

And crying.

And probably doing a shot. 


#ginwindow
#foxyfanny







Friday, 13 February 2015

Valentines Dos & Don'ts for Knackered Mums & Dads

Valentine's Day means very little in our household, my priorities lie firmly with crying on the toilet, finding human shit behind my ear, discovering new ways to hide vegetables in cheese products, and other important life skills like that…

But, never one to shy away from an opportunity to guilt-trip the husband, here's my take on injecting romance into what would otherwise be another soul-less ear-faeces-laden day.


Do - remind each other how flipping awesome you are, despite the fact you are being forced to have that conversation whilst your wife expresses with one hand and does shots of wine with the other… You've made humans. ACTUAL HUMANS. And there was NEVER a better reason to reward yourself with an M&S dine-in-for-two meal...
Don't - waste a shit evening in a packed restaurant with a ton of other couples trying to resist the urge to check their twitter feeds over an over-priced steak. You'll be forced to wear a proper underwear… and let's face it. Bras just aren't for you any more.

Do - get off F-ing Facebook for the night… and try an actual 'con-ver-sat-ion'. About something other than ear-faeces if possible.
Don't - spend the entire night on social media feeling equally irritated and jealous as all your twatty child-free friends post pictures of their actual 'florist-bought' flowers along with smug pictures of jewellery and handbags oh-so-originally captioned 'the boy done good'…. F@*kers. One day, their vaginas will know true pain, and what's it's like to never wish to be near a thong or penis ever again…

On a separate note, can I just take this opportunity to say thanks Timehop. You total shit. For flagging up today's photo of me, 5 years ago, thin, with in-tact vagina, in Venice, smugly holding a Marc Jacobs bag, captioned 'the boy done good'. Oh… Shit.

Do - buy each other gifts that aren't made out of pasta and snot, or bought from the Tesco garage on the way home…
Don't - make jokes about how long it's been since you've had a blowjob thinking this might 'inspire one'. It doesn't. Mulberry handbags and Louboutins do.

Do - pack the small people off to bed early, (preferably in a different location - a friend's, Granny's, the garden… etc) and enjoy some 'Mummy/Daddy time'… 
Don't - use the word Valentines as a verb or out of context... For example; 'I am going to valentines the shit out of you', or, 'tonight, to make things really special, let's shave your valentines together.' No. just no.

Do - get yourself weighed. Make a note of it. Purchase this many pounds of chocolate. And tuck in using only your face. Ahhh the romance...
Don't - make the mistake of thinking fruit is sexy. Once you've seen a toddler take a shit after eating raspberries you can't un-see it… So scrap the berries. Unless you want to give up all hope of ever getting that blow job. Ever.


The End.

*Heads off to express and do some wine shots* 

#HappyBastardValentines.








Monday, 9 February 2015

The independent toddler's guide to gaining a sibling

Dear fellow big sisters, big brothers, scab-pickers and other completers of the mega-tantrum,

Welcome.

Please relax, (if this causes you to fart, remember you now have a baby to blame this on...) and allow me to enlighten you on how to turn the 'sibling-situation' to your advantage.

  • Firstly. Use this opportunity to ask for a new bedroom, full iPad rights, the destruction of all vegetables and 2-ft of real blond hair. So that you can complete your transformation into Elsa for once and for all.
  • Cafes present a new domain of terror for Mummy now… you don't need to run… you just need her to know that you could. If you wanted to. Or if she didn't buy you cake. 
  • Any time the baby is sat on someone's lap, you are too. BECAUSE THAT'S JUST HOW IT IS NOW BITCH. 
  • No. You can't see the problem with watching Frozen for the twelth time in back to back sittings... But you can however see why Mummy needs Spanx. And a lot of make-up. And highlights.
  • Develop a new laugh for this new period of your life... One that is in fact a shout and ends in you taking a shit underneath a randomly selected piece of furniture. Because you can.
  • Ask for a nappy for your favourite doll... Everyone will think you're so cute. Until you place a human turd in it and eat it like a f@*king sandwich.
  • Photobomb your new sibling wherever you can... Own that shit. If you still get ignored break into interpretive dance. Any where. Any beat. Any time. With knives.
  • Need Mummy's attention? Begin by affectionately stroking your younger sibling's head or face, move on to a gentle kiss on the cheek, then when everyone expects it least use a packet of strawberry wriggles to spell out the words 'YOU'RE NEXT…' on their forehead... That'll teach the bitch to check twitter when she's supposed to be taking part in your three-hour disney-dance-a-thon.  
  • If you want to earn brownie points with the folks, be really helpful when your younger sibling is having their nappy changed... Pass mummy a nappy, or the baby wipes, or a section of your ear severed off with a Hello Kitty knife and placed in a box with a note written in the ear-blood reading 'why don't you love me anymore...??' or something…
  • And finally. Remember. You don't need to acknowledge adults now. You can just ignore them. This is your time to shine… or sit around fiddling with your fanjo until someone brings you a hobnob. Same thing really. 

Good luck guys. See you on the other side (with your hobnobs).

WallyBubba xxx


The Alternative Baby Glossary… (contains no gloss and lots of disappointment)

Good Sleeper = The empty LIE which tempted you into unprotected sex in the first place… (*note to  self* - in future, just have a Twix.)
Good Feeder = My nipples look like pate.
Bad Latch = My baby ate some of my pate nipple.
Tongue Tie = Nature's way of telling you you're baby's not a pate fan.
Cluster Feeding = Your baby f@*king loves pate.
Combination Feeding = The breast-police are very disappointed in you and you and vagina are going to hell.
Nipple Confusion = You'd be confused too if you had to fit that in your face.
Feeding Position = Yeah, you better be holding your baby at exactly 37 degrees perpendicular to your lap or they will be all up in your shit like a tiny-milky-twat.
Facial Recognition = When they look at you and shit. Yes, your face makes them shit themselves. Let's try not to read into that too much. 
Colic = You won't be leaving the house for a while and when you do, it will be to go and cry behind some bins.
Reflux = The Universe has decided you are a horrific human being and this is your punishment. Along with how your vagina looks now.
Baby Socks = Another one of the Universe's jokes…
Controlled Crying = If you think for a second you are in control of anything then you should probably sell your ovaries on the internet right now.
First Smile = Wind (and denial).
First Laugh = Lots of wind (and denial).
Wind = My baby is really happy (but no-one squeeze them too hard).
Floor Gym = Somewhere to leave your baby so you can go take a shit for the first time in three days.
Jumperoo = Freeeeeeeeeeeeeddddddoooooommmmmmm. Escape to the bathroom now and eat as many Snickers in a row as you can before it's too late…
Tummy-Time = Baby face-planting with tears.
Babble = I'm trying to talk to you, you rancid whore.
Baby Wearing = You don't even need to put down your gin…?! #nobrainer
Skin-to-Skin = Excuse for a bath.
New Baby Smell = When you've washed off the vagina sections with Johnsons.
Baby Bath = You think you're cleaning your baby, but what really happens is you dry them and all their skin falls off. Until you stick it back on with baby oil.
Teething = Run away now while you still can...
Co-Sleeping = Remember when you used to have sex…? No. Probably best.
Sleep Regression = What the internet tells you to say when your baby still thinks 20 minutes sleep per night is acceptable at 4-months old.
Growth Spurt = What the internet tells you to say about everything else...
Positing = When your baby farts milk out of their face. In chunks.
Milestones = The precious moments where your baby begins sitting, eating, crawling and walking… and the moment you realise why baby vests have shoulders like that…


Alternatively, simply apply 'Growth Spurt' to everything on this list. And have some gin while baby-wearing.

#alternativebabyglossary
#gin


Things you should know about owning a threenager...


  • Firstly. You don't own them, you have just made a really shitty investment that now answers you back and only eats pizza.
  • Secondly. They know when you've put a supermarket own brand pizza in a Domino's box… they know… and you will suffer…
  • Threenagers don't tantrum. Oh no. It's far worse now... Every. Bastard. Thing. Is a serious negotiation… 'I'm too scared to go to the park... I'm too small to walk any more... I'm too big to eat... my tummy hurts so I need to wear your shoes today.' Urgh. #killme
  • No matter how long they've been potty-trained, one wrong move and you will find a shit wrapped around a Barbie when you go through the toy box.
  • But then there's nothing that can't be solved with a packet of Haribo and a pair of sparkly party shoes. For ten minutes or so. Then you're really f@*ked.
  • Yes. They can go to nursery every day this week dressed as Elsa. And they forgive you for being too stupid to initially realise this. 
  • You are now officially the 'sharing police'. Count in one day how many times you tell your 3yr old it's 'nice to share'... If you put a quid in glass each time you will be able to buy Russia by September.
  • No laughing at undesignated times. 
  • And absolutely NO SINGING OVER THE LET IT GO BIT IN FROZEN UNLESS YOU WANT TO LOSE HAIR, SKIN AND DIGNITY.
  • They can use an iPhone better than you can.
  • And there can never be too many half-face selfies. Ever. 
  • Planning on eating out...?! Don't. It's a trap… The iPad doesn't work anymore… you better set aside some time to mourn this period of your life. You won't be going to cafes/restaurants/out of your living room for playdates anymore. 
  • You can't lie. They have now somehow developed photographic memories. So if you promised a biscuit to get them out of the playground, you better be Hobnobbed-up-to-the-shitting-max at home or you've definitely got a toy-box-turd coming your way…
  • They know injuries mean attention. So you better hide all the knives. 
  • They're really not babies anymore… even though they'll always be your baby... Just a 'baby' that can single handedly knock out an Alsatian and FaceTime themselves doing it. 


#toyboxturds
#threenagers 

10 Myths About Newborn Babies and Other Shit to Cry to…

  1. That newborn baby smell…? That’s sections of stuck on vagina and neck-curdled breast milk. Yeah. Kiss my baby now.  
  2. Sterile water and cotton wool balls does not bastardy-well cut it during a projectile poonami. Frankly, this is a job for Cillit Bang and wine.  
  3. You will never leave the house without muslins ever again. No matter how crusty they (or you) are.
  4. Sleep when the baby sleeps… Do you actually want me to stab you?! If you need me, I’ll be doing tequila shots to the face and picking the crispy bits off my leggings during the 45 minutes he’s slept today thanks.
  5. Mirrors (and salad) make you sad now… 
  6. Of course having a baby doesn’t impact negatively in your marriage/relationship… which is why you’ve booked a Hysterectomy, and got some vodka and your episiotomy selfie saved on the iPad in case he tries to come near you with his penis.
  7. You don’t know why your baby is f@*king crying. You just know you have nipples. And that works. #nipplewin
  8. ‘Dreamfeed’ implies some kind of sleep. You’re not ready to laugh about this yet. *heads to a darkened corner and rocks back and forth hugging some gin*
  9. You would do anything for someone to take the baby off your hands for an hour or so… Until someone offers and you want to punch them in the face for even beginning to suggest you are not coping. Wankers.
  10. Whatever the question, the answer really does always begin (and end) with #gin.
##gin
##episiotomyselfie


Dear Mummy... (A Mother's Day poem)

Dear Mummy... we just wanted to say thank you,
For putting up with all of our shit.
We're sorry for the winging, the crying and the whining,
And all the times we punched you in the tit.

We're sorry you never have time to shave your legs.
We're sorry that you've now grown a tash...
We're sorry you don't get to wear a bra anymore.
And we're sorry about the baggy vag.

We're sorry your tummy looks like a dehydrated scrotum,
We're sorry you leak a bit when you laugh.
We're sorry you never get to eat toast on your own.
We're sorry we've lost seven Sophie the Giraffes.

We're sorry about the Cheerios and human shit in your hair,
We're sorry about the substantial loss of skin...
We're sorry you never get to poo alone,
We're sorry that CBeebies has driven you to gin.

So thank you, our Mummy, for all of the things,
You put up with from us every day.
You're the best f@*king Mummy that we've ever had,
And we love you in every way.


(We also got you this daffodil with fox turd on it that we found in the road. Enjoy.)


#DearMummy
#foxturddaffodils
#gin

The Modern Daddy.

This one's a thank you to the modern Daddy;
The baby carrying, push-chair rocking, changer of the nappy.
The night-time bouncing, muslin dousing, king of the sling,
The story-reading, face-to-get-peed-in, human baby-gym. 
Thank you for the night-feeds, that give my boobs a break,
Thanks for making me cups of tea, while I cry into an enormous cake.
Thanks for ordering pizza, when I've made a total shit of dinner,
Thanks for pretending my dressing gown actually makes me look thinner.
So this one's for you, our modern Daddy,
The night-time driving, colic surviving, chap that still looks happy.
Thanks for Friday night wine-time, where mummy gets a little bit plastered,
And thanks for being such an awesome Dad, and a goddamn lovely bastard.

#moderndaddy



The Three Shades of Newborns. Uncovered.

I'm 8 weeks in.

I can feel my face again… I can almost hold an adult conversation… and I no longer spend every moment the baby isn't awake in the foetal position, rocking, sobbing and spooning Nutella into my mouth with a Sophie the Giraffe…

Yes.

I can see the light at the end of the liquid-yellow-shit-stained tunnel, and there's mascara, wine, and underwired bras there… *stares wistfully off into distance at the thought of real underwear again…*

So now that the newborn fog has begun to clear, let me impart my wise learnings from the past 2 months...


1. Changing.

There will be poos. Many poos… More poos than you ever thought possible for a 60cm human being to produce. And after the first 24 hours of attempting to clean stringy-korma-mustard-turd off of a tiny wrinkly scrotum sack with cotton balls and sterilised tears, you too will be Amazon-Priming the shit out of the Johnsons's baby wipes like the rest of us. Fact.

NB - If your baby isn't pooing, simply dress them in white, put on a nice top, or attempt to leave the house on time… and watch the poonami commence.

2. Sleeping.

The internet told me that newborn babies like to sleep for 18 hours a day… *pauses to wait for hysterical cry-laughing to stop* and I can see the funny side of this now that I've realised the internet is a FULL OF MOTHER-FRIGGING LIES. (and is mostly cats.)

Besides, if you slept when the baby was sleeping, when would you fit in your gin? That 20 minutes IS your only #ginwindow; your time Tanqueray, tears and reminiscing about the area you used to call your vagina… and now looks like something a fox threw-up...

Babies are pretty boring during the day though… perhaps because need to get their rest in during daylight so they've got the energy to really f@*k your shit up at at night.

3. Feeding.

If ever there was a time where you considered your breasts our own… those times are gone. Long gone… like the elasticity of your stomach skin and labia…. You are one giant on-demand udder. Held together with clicky-clippy nursing fastenings. *flinches* 

In the beginning, there was plague, famine, death and destruction. Then. There was Colic. Which is totally actually worse. And mostly consists of feeding your child. Then watching them explode like an tiny, angry, milky baby-volcano, while you shout something like… WHERE THE F@*KING TWATTING TWAT IS THE MUSLIN. DEAR GOD IT'S IN MY EYES. NOW IT'S DRIBBLING INTO MY MOUTH. GOD. WHYYYY. WHYYYYYYYYYY….

Then finding the muslin in your hand.

And crying.

And probably doing a shot. 


#ginwindow
#foxyfanny







Valentines Dos & Don'ts for Knackered Mums & Dads

Valentine's Day means very little in our household, my priorities lie firmly with crying on the toilet, finding human shit behind my ear, discovering new ways to hide vegetables in cheese products, and other important life skills like that…

But, never one to shy away from an opportunity to guilt-trip the husband, here's my take on injecting romance into what would otherwise be another soul-less ear-faeces-laden day.


Do - remind each other how flipping awesome you are, despite the fact you are being forced to have that conversation whilst your wife expresses with one hand and does shots of wine with the other… You've made humans. ACTUAL HUMANS. And there was NEVER a better reason to reward yourself with an M&S dine-in-for-two meal...
Don't - waste a shit evening in a packed restaurant with a ton of other couples trying to resist the urge to check their twitter feeds over an over-priced steak. You'll be forced to wear a proper underwear… and let's face it. Bras just aren't for you any more.

Do - get off F-ing Facebook for the night… and try an actual 'con-ver-sat-ion'. About something other than ear-faeces if possible.
Don't - spend the entire night on social media feeling equally irritated and jealous as all your twatty child-free friends post pictures of their actual 'florist-bought' flowers along with smug pictures of jewellery and handbags oh-so-originally captioned 'the boy done good'…. F@*kers. One day, their vaginas will know true pain, and what's it's like to never wish to be near a thong or penis ever again…

On a separate note, can I just take this opportunity to say thanks Timehop. You total shit. For flagging up today's photo of me, 5 years ago, thin, with in-tact vagina, in Venice, smugly holding a Marc Jacobs bag, captioned 'the boy done good'. Oh… Shit.

Do - buy each other gifts that aren't made out of pasta and snot, or bought from the Tesco garage on the way home…
Don't - make jokes about how long it's been since you've had a blowjob thinking this might 'inspire one'. It doesn't. Mulberry handbags and Louboutins do.

Do - pack the small people off to bed early, (preferably in a different location - a friend's, Granny's, the garden… etc) and enjoy some 'Mummy/Daddy time'… 
Don't - use the word Valentines as a verb or out of context... For example; 'I am going to valentines the shit out of you', or, 'tonight, to make things really special, let's shave your valentines together.' No. just no.

Do - get yourself weighed. Make a note of it. Purchase this many pounds of chocolate. And tuck in using only your face. Ahhh the romance...
Don't - make the mistake of thinking fruit is sexy. Once you've seen a toddler take a shit after eating raspberries you can't un-see it… So scrap the berries. Unless you want to give up all hope of ever getting that blow job. Ever.


The End.

*Heads off to express and do some wine shots* 

#HappyBastardValentines.








The independent toddler's guide to gaining a sibling

Dear fellow big sisters, big brothers, scab-pickers and other completers of the mega-tantrum,

Welcome.

Please relax, (if this causes you to fart, remember you now have a baby to blame this on...) and allow me to enlighten you on how to turn the 'sibling-situation' to your advantage.

  • Firstly. Use this opportunity to ask for a new bedroom, full iPad rights, the destruction of all vegetables and 2-ft of real blond hair. So that you can complete your transformation into Elsa for once and for all.
  • Cafes present a new domain of terror for Mummy now… you don't need to run… you just need her to know that you could. If you wanted to. Or if she didn't buy you cake. 
  • Any time the baby is sat on someone's lap, you are too. BECAUSE THAT'S JUST HOW IT IS NOW BITCH. 
  • No. You can't see the problem with watching Frozen for the twelth time in back to back sittings... But you can however see why Mummy needs Spanx. And a lot of make-up. And highlights.
  • Develop a new laugh for this new period of your life... One that is in fact a shout and ends in you taking a shit underneath a randomly selected piece of furniture. Because you can.
  • Ask for a nappy for your favourite doll... Everyone will think you're so cute. Until you place a human turd in it and eat it like a f@*king sandwich.
  • Photobomb your new sibling wherever you can... Own that shit. If you still get ignored break into interpretive dance. Any where. Any beat. Any time. With knives.
  • Need Mummy's attention? Begin by affectionately stroking your younger sibling's head or face, move on to a gentle kiss on the cheek, then when everyone expects it least use a packet of strawberry wriggles to spell out the words 'YOU'RE NEXT…' on their forehead... That'll teach the bitch to check twitter when she's supposed to be taking part in your three-hour disney-dance-a-thon.  
  • If you want to earn brownie points with the folks, be really helpful when your younger sibling is having their nappy changed... Pass mummy a nappy, or the baby wipes, or a section of your ear severed off with a Hello Kitty knife and placed in a box with a note written in the ear-blood reading 'why don't you love me anymore...??' or something…
  • And finally. Remember. You don't need to acknowledge adults now. You can just ignore them. This is your time to shine… or sit around fiddling with your fanjo until someone brings you a hobnob. Same thing really. 

Good luck guys. See you on the other side (with your hobnobs).

WallyBubba xxx