I am currently sat STARVING waiting for two sodding hours after drinking a disgusting volume of glucose to check to see if I have gestational diabetes.

I could save them some time, I tried to save them some time by telling them I don’t have gestational diabetes, but hey what do I know?

I have fasted for this. I’m so hangry I nearly legged up the selfish twat who walked past me EATING A BAG OF CRISPS. Does he not know there is a hungry mama here?

Last time I endured this horror we went to the hospital, hubs and I sat next to what can only be described as THE SMELLIEST FAMILY ON THE PLANET. I mean good grief! I kept gagging it was so awful. Then what an onlooker would describe as a sweet old man hobbled past with a trolley. Except he wasn’t a sweet old man, HE WAS A SADISTIC OLD BASTARD parading a trolley crammed with sweets, chocolate and crisps THAT I COULDN’T EAT. Parading his wares to a room chock full of hungry preggos. Did I mention that in addition to fasting last night I now have to sit for two whole hours not eating before I get jabbed with a needle so they can send off my blood AND TELL ME WHAT I ALREADY KNOW. I’m getting strong movements from bump, pretty sure it’s trying to get hold of a phone so it can call childline.

I’m not in the hospital today, so far no doddery old farts pushing sweetie laden trolleys to take out although I have just seen a woman throw-up all over the reception desk.

And another lady shout to her son ‘Armani! Get here. (Addressing patients) You don’t have to fucking stare at me. I hate coming here every time I do it just takes the piss’

I’m hangry enough to tell her if she didn’t walk round shouting profanities, maybe people wouldn’t stare. But I don’t think she’d know what profanity means and I’m quite sure she’d hit me and I’ve been specifically told to keep still so I don’t wear the glucose off.

I’m now trying to decide if puking lady and shouty lady are better or worse than smelly family. But as this is the last baby I plan on having it’s not really something I have to worry about.

I’ve got an hour and 14 minutes to go then hubs is on strict instructions to take us to Mac Donald’s. I’m ordering the menu.

In other news:

The bald kitten’s eye seem miraculously non-slimy today.

Captain demonstrated his love for me by sleeping on my face last night.

The chair I’m currently sitting on in this Zeus forsaken waiting room is apparently my arse’s worst enemy.


Caution! Lurgy house.

The Bald Kitten has tonsillitis. He has been prescribed penicillin for this particular ailment but trying to get that in to him is like tying to wrestle a screaming, crying squid. It’s horrible, hubs and I feel awful administering the meds but he has to have them. Would just get them down him easier if penicillin came in the form of Paw Patrol yoghurts.

As is that wasn’t fun enough, it seems he’s developed conjunctivitis too. I keep wiping bright green slimy nodules out of his eye and trying to mop up the abundance of snot that keeps pouring out of his nose before it gets wiped on his hand/the sofa/me. Or as I noticed earlier he just licks it away.

I’ve cracked out the Dettol. The house is starting to smell like a hospital. But my cleaning mission is being interrupted because the bald kitten needs lots of snugs! I have the fun task of boiling his flannel and pillow case and pretty much anything he’s touched before we’re collectively know as the ‘snotty eye family’ I’ve also been dodging a biscuit the boy keeps trying to shove into my mouth because Zeus only know what germs are lurking on it.

Speaking of food, he’s just not into it. Anything he asks for I give to him. Of the 70 million biscuits I’ve given him today (because he asks for them) he’s only eaten one. The others get locked, nibbled a bit and discarded. I may pick him up a Happy Meal tomorrow, he likes their chicken nuggets and I’m heartbroken to find his little round belly is not to round today.

Safe to say this week has not been fun. The boy gets upset in the very early hours and gets into bed with us. Daddy loses the most sleep because will like to cuddle him then start chatting or demanding he goes downstairs to get him a drink.

Fingers crossed the medicine suddenly works it’s magic and we get our little boy back, with all his exuberance, snacking and general ruling the roost!

In other news:

I have officially started my third trimester today.

The Nursery is still not decorated.

Staying awake all day is something I now rarely achieve.

The Bump Chronicles- 26 weeks and feeling it.

I can’t remember being this knackered last time round. I have just made myself a caffeinated coffee because it’s half ten in the morning and I’m not sure how much longer I can stay awake. It can’t be an iron deficiency because I’m taking supplements. Can the doctor sign me off on the grounds I need to be unconscious for at least half the day (and all of the night…)

Wednesday was an experience, little pea seemed to stretch out, I had limbs poking either side. It made shopping rather uncomfortable. Then I tried to pack my shopping into a car I don’t own. I made the mistake of waddling down the booze aisle looking at all the Christmas tipples I won’t be enjoying this year. No snowballs, no port, no fizz. But that wasn’t as depressing as going into a clothes shop and seeing all the lovely clothes I’m too fat for. I don’t want to buy any more maternity clothes I’ll only have them for a three and a bit months but I never like what I’m wearing. Hubs and I are going to Birmingham on Monday, I love seeing how people are dressed. In the big cites (I full on gawp in London, so many stylish people!) And I always like to make an effort especially as we’re going to wander round Selfridges and have lunch. Our last date before baby! (I’ll soon be flopped on then sofa like Jabba the Hutt demanding snacks and not bothering to get dressed, lucky hubs.) But I will have to wear what fits on Monday. I’m going to feel a little uncomfortable all day. But we’re hoping to buy Little Pea a teddy. A special first teddy. If Little Pea is anything like the bald kitten, the teddy will be ignored and some sort of lanky jungle animal brought by the grandparents will be the firm, rather smelly favourite!

I’m also at the fun stage of needing to wee every 24 seconds. I forgot how exhausting that is. I may just sit on the toilet now. Until baby comes.

The bald kitten still has absolutely no idea he’s got a sibling on the way, I suspect he just thinks I’m fat. We keep talking to him about it but I guess it’s a lot to take in.

I really should be cleaning but tiredness is kicking nesting’s arse at the moment. My nesting didn’t kick in until late last time. On the day I was booked in to be induced I was scrubbing all the doors upstairs. Hubs was stuck, he wanted to intervene but knows manic cleaning mode wifey can be snappy. I was also shitting myself because I knew in a few hours I’d be having a baby. That would come home to a house with mucky doors.

This continued when we brought our little prince home. Today he’s dropped all his grapes on the floor and then eaten them. I actually helped him pick them up. How times have changed!)

When I got back from the hospital, my mother and sister in law had put helium balloons and banners in the house, it was lovely to come home to! I was so out of it for the next week or so I’m not sure if I thanked them?

I’ve got about 14 weeks left. And I’m nervous. We’re going to have two babies. Then Kev is going to go back to work and I’ve got to hold the fort. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. I predict a train wreck for at least the first four months. Bear with me kiddos.

In other news:

When the boy isn’t watching Paw Patrol, he’s telling me all about it. Captain Turbot has made ‘the list’.

I’ve got a hen weekend in Brighton coming up, can’t wait for some girly time and a weekend with Twinothy.

The boy’s new favourite thing is feeding the cats treats. Pretty sure they’re both going to be obese soon.

24 weeks and feeling like arse.

So I’m 24 weeks preggo and have the cold of all sodding colds.

Normally, I don’t get them. I have rather a cracking immune system and just don’t get colds. When I’m pregnant, it’s a different story. Not only do I feel like pure arse, due to my condition can’t take lemsips or sinus clearing stuff. My sinuses are so full my teeth hurt.

Hot honey and lemon? I hear you say. I Might as well cast a spell. It would probably be as effective.

Now the reason I feel so poo is my immune system is compromised as my body is doing its thing growing Little Pea. For that I’m grateful. But I’m not sure I can sleep with my mouth open for one more night. My throat is killing me and I miss breathing through my nose. It’s why I got up at half five this morning.

To add my feelings of woe, I’ve been informed I need to visit the OASIS clinic. This will be to ascertain the true extent of the damage William’s big beautiful head did to my downstairs and from that decide whether a c-section would be best for me next year. I should have had these appointments soon after having the bald kitten but never got one. I can’t tell you how much I’m dreading this. Oasis sounds quite pleasant but it’s an anagram. That’s all I’m saying…

Another ‘fun’ thing I have to do is a glucose tolerance test, to check for gestational diabetes. I did ask not to have this as I had the test last time and was fine, I don’t feel I have diabetes now and to be honest not being able to eat from midnight to then sit for two hours after having a revolting drink and then a blood test (I HATE NEEDLES!) for no real reason is stressing me out! No food from midnight until about half eleven the next day. Approach with caution.

I’m seeing the midwife next week when I’ll be booked in for my anti-d. It’s an injection to make sure that if my baby is a positive blood group, my negative blood cells don’t see it as some sort of invasion to kill. It’s less of an injection more giant sodding harpoon. And it hurts like hell. So, yay for me!

Fingers crossed this cold buggers off TODAY so I can sleep tonight and remember what it feels like to be a fully functioning human.

In other news:

The cats new favourite place is William’s bedroom. Captain sleeps on the changing table, Marms is working on making his duvet all hairy.

Our bathroom has been fitted, it’s beautiful, it just needs painting. We can’t wait for it to be finished.

Mums night out on Saturday! I’ll be there snot or no snot (hopefully no snot!)

Shopping Woes.

It’s official.

Shopping is now shit.

This is aside from the fact that there is naf all attire for preggos on the high street.

It’s the behaviour of my son. He is now a ball bag of monumental proportions anytime we go near anything that resembles a shop. For starters HE WILL NOT GO IN HIS PUSHCHAIR. I made the fatal mistake of putting him in one on Friday after a coffee with mum in Waterstones because a game of ‘Put the book back darling’ which in my head was a game of ‘put that fucking book back and finish your drink that I’ve just paid through the arse for!!’

(I’d like to point out we were nowhere near the children’s section, he’d pulled an anthology of poetry off the shelf and when I asked him to put it back he pouted and started bending the book. I took it off him so he didn’t damage it and I’d have to pay a tenner for a massive book of shit poems. Removing the book from his possession caused a screamathon. It’s fun when everyone stares.)

Anyway, I put him in his pushchair. He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. He started choking on his own tears. He threw Miaow Miaow on the floor then asked to be handed his beloved soft toy, only to throw the bloody thing on the floor again.

He tried getting out of the straps. I put them back on. More screaming.

Why not let him walk? I hear you cry.

That is indeed an option. But this issue is this: the boy doesn’t run away in shops, he stops.


And he




I coax, bribe, cajole, get firm, pretend to leave and nothing works. The little sod just stands there with his arms crossed frowning at me like I’ve just shit on a puppy. If nothing works I go and get him. I hate physically moving him but I’m not standing in boots for nine hours whilst he looks wistfully at the cover of a craft beer book. I take him by the hand and try to talk him into moving and OF COURSE he’s having none of it. He does that thing kids do and just drops like his bones are jelly. So I pick him up (he’s usually wailing by this point) but I’m pregnant I can’t carry him for long periods of time so the idea is to pick him up calm him down and get him in the pushchair.

Predictably he refuses the pushchair. Says wants to walk. I try to put him down and the kid contorts more than someone having an exorcism in an effort not to let ANY part of him make contact with the floor because he wants to be carried. We then get a repeat of the being put in the pushchair tantrum.

I can take people staring and I can handle the behaviour. But I don’t want to.

I don’t want to have to narrate the whole time, I get sick of the sound of my own bloody voice and exhausted at the same time.

We popped into a shop called Dunelm today. Daddy was with us and the boy performed again. Hubs got gradually more frustrated as behaviour took a nose dive and we left before we’d looked at everything we wanted to.

I get that the shops don’t hold a lot of pull for him, but am I selfish for doing something I want instead of swimming or soft-play for him? I don’t spend long in the shops, I just want to do something adult. I’m already dreading trying to get round the shops with two of them!

In other news:

Potty training imminent.

New bathroom should be finished TOMORROW. I can’t wait for there not to be strangers in my house!

Little pea kicked hard enough for hubs to feel it the other day.

18 weeks – feels remarkably like all the other weeks so far.

My belly is a now constant reminder that I have a little pea swimming about in my uterus. I’m starting to feel the swimming which is very reassuring.

Speaking of swimming, Will started lessons four weeks ago. They’re all about getting the little one used to water and swim ready. There are songs and games and LOTS of splashing. It’s quite a workout for us as there is a lot of throwing the boy around. One of the exercises is to hold a novelty float and kick the water as an adult holds and guides you across the pool. Except Will doesn’t kick. He shouts ‘Weeeeeeeeeeee!’ with his feet sticking out of the water whilst hubs does all the work. It’s funny as hell but a tad frustrating when you’re repeating ‘kick, kick, kick!’ in a high pitched forced enthusiastic voice whilst he has a half an hour rest in the water. Hubs does the lesson with him as I’m not quite in a condition to throw a toddler about. I use the time to swim a few lengths. It’s nice to feel weightless for a bit and will be more so the more massive I get.

Today was busy, I had a lot to contend with; young teenaged girls showing off for the lanky teenaged lifeguard. Families treating the pool like it was a resort fun pool and throwing balls all over the sodding place, lanky teenaged lifeguard not noticing on account of the girls who seemed to be doing a lot of spinning? One of said girls climbed out of the pool in a teeny tiny bikini then slipped over, got up and did the over theatrical hysterical laughing and loudly telling her friend that she had just fallen over, to let anyone who might have seen it happen that she wasn’t completely mortified. I’m frankly quite jealous, if I’d have slipped over like that there’s no way in hell I could have got up so quickly.

We’ve visited friends this weekend and spent Saturday exploring Hampton Court Palace. The boy was fairly well behaved. We had a couple of public meltdowns, he loved stamping his feel in the large wooden floored rooms because it made a great sound. I do feel for the tourists with the audio guides as they had our little foghorn to contend with. The boy doesn’t see a rope barrier as something to keep behind and we uttered several frantic ‘Will, come here!’ Before we were told off or ejected. Although I have to say he senses the desperation in your voice and the more panicked you sound, the less likely he is to come back. Such fun!

We had a long drive home (got to love the M25) so swimming was a welcome stretch after being cooped up. We also had a mega tantrum in the services because we asked the bald kitten to put back a wheeled George Pig book, he didn’t want to put it back, he wanted us to cough up the £8 for it. When it became clear that would not be happening he screamed blue bloody murder. We were stared at. And across the car park as the tantrum continued which only stopped once he was strapped in his car seat. ‘Stopped crying now’ was the sentence for the next few miles.

Swimming has worn him out so definitely an early night. I can’t imagine hubs and I will be up more later. Tomorrow I have my whooping cough jab to look forward to.

In other news:

Marms, the majestic hunter that she is has just tried to catch a fly that’s on the other side of the window pane.

I nearly fainted today, turns out I’m a bit of a fainter in this pregnancy…

Holiday countdown has geared up a notch so the pressure is on to make sure the clothes are clean tomorrow instead of spending the day drinking tea and eating biscuits…

Kids TV – pros and cons

The bald kitten is now taking more of an interest in kids tv. As much as it’s not something I want him watching ALL the time, it definitely has its benefits.

My darling son doesn’t nap in the day anymore. My golden time has gone, so ten minutes of distraction is my time to sit down with a hot drink. It’s also reassuring to know I’ve something to entertain him when I get a few weeks away from my due date. When I’m too massive to get down onto the floor to play with him and walking upstairs to the loo has the same effect as running a marathon. (Or at least how I imagine it feels to run a marathon…)

Popping on the tv means he’s distracted whilst I do the boring household things that need doing, cleaning the sink, bleaching the loo, stuff like I’d rather not do with a toddler around.

There are messages about friendship and kindness in kids tv programmes too. So he’s probably learning something…

The downside of kids tv:

It’s so frigging irritating.

Will’s current favourites are: Bing, Paw Patrol and Twirly Woos.

Twirly Woos- a family of weird round things that live in a boat and communicate through a series of annoying noises. There’s also some sort of pointy owl that I don’t understand the point of. They can sail a ship but concepts such and ‘up’, ‘down’ and ‘around’ are completely new to them.

Paw Patrol – a gang of anthropomorphic dogs with a pre-pubescent overlord. One of said dogs, Marshal, is adored by many but has zero coordination and causes many accidents. Not sure how he made the team. Don’t know why they trust him with a fire truck when he can’t walk into a lift without falling over. Evil mayor seems to persistently evade law enforcement. Evil mayor keeps cats fuelling outdated and inaccurate stereotype of cats being evil. Non evil mayor has unhealthy relationship with a chicken. So far none of the dogs have tried to eat said chicken.

Bing- a small rabbit that makes you fantasise about stabbing yourself in the eyes. Never. Stops. Whining. Lives with weird as yet unidentified creature called ‘Flop’. Flop is either a father figure or serial killer. As Bing is so bloody irritating I’ve been rooting for serial killer for some time now.

Of all the stuff he watches I detest Bing the most. I get he’s supposed to portray a toddler, but I have a toddler. I get listen to enough tantrums/moaning I don’t want a second dose from the tv…

In conclusion: kids tv has its place but: It. Will. Break. You.

If you need me I’ll be telling the boy that the TwirlyWoos, Paw Patrol and Bing are all sleeping so we can’t possibly watch them…